Fly on Broken Wings
by Violet Nyte
Summary: -AU, 1x2, 3x4, 6x13/6x5- The day after his 16th birthday, Quatre finds himself in a psychiatric hospital facing a bipolar roommate whose friends include a mute and a sociopath! Can Quatre ever hope to heal and help his new friends do the same?
1. Quatre Arrives

LSE / 3-12-04  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One: Quatre Arrives)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

**Quatre Arrives**

* * *

The screams echoed off the walls, blasting away the conversations and drawing the turn of every head able to move. As one, those in the ward fell silent before the shrill cry that went on and on without pause. It broke only for the screamer to gasp air into his lungs, the howled chords shaken by the strain on the lungs... and by the frantic efforts of the screamer to pull free of those that tried to restrain him.

Halfway down the hall in his room, Duo Maxwell lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow at the scream. He watched in amusement as nurses ran by in a flurry of white uniforms and worry, congregating around the disturbance. As soon as he heard the tell-tale clunks of the Head Nurse's shoes he knew the fight would be over soon. Whoever it was making all that noise would find himself spinning up towards lala-land on a cloud of tranquilizers.

Duo grinned. This he had to see. After the stern-faced nurse had passed with her formidable syringe loaded, Duo got up from his bed and crossed over to the door, leaning out like everyone else up and down the hall. Down at the north entrance, just a few steps into the actual wing, the flurry of excitement swarmed about the hapless screamer.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Except for the screams, which continued with renewed energy as the nurses and orderlies merely stared. The Head Nurse stumbled out from the circle, face contorted in a dark glare as she futilely tried to bat away the concerned ministrations of a junior nurse. The flails of the screamer had made the needle loaded with tranquilizers go nowhere except right into the Head Nurse's arm.

"Payback's a bitch," Duo muttered, trying to get a look at whomever the poor sap was still shrieking his head off. Whenever the guy calmed down, Duo'd have to congratulate him on the fantastic performance. Unless he was just whacked. Or drooled. Drooling was beyond nasty.

The screams abruptly ended.

Duo leaned further out into the hall, striving to get a good look at whoever it was down there. Some of the orderlies and nurses departed, muttering to themselves, leaving behind a distraught looking business man, complete with a briefcase. The man had his arm under a slightly figure, blond head rolled to one side, with a nurse hurriedly taking up the other side.

That little thing was the screamer? Why, he wasn't even a patient! Duo noted in disbelief. Unless he was a transfer... or just new. What a way to make an entrance.

Aided by the nurse and the suit-clad man, (the boy's father? Could be, although the deep tan skin and brown hair suggested those flaxen locks came from the mother, if that was the case) the boy weaved his way out of the hall and towards nurse's station, ending the show for those watching. Disappointed and vaguely miffed, Duo turned and went back to his book, lying abandoned on the bed.

* * *

"Maxwell, get your feet off the wall."

"Bite me."

"No, thank you," the nurse replied with a hint of disgust. "I'm sorry, he's actually quite civil when he wants to be. Well, here's your room. I'm sure Maxwell will be most helpful to you and offer to show you around the ward -"

"Huh?" Duo tilted his head off the bed, staring at the doorway and the up-side down nurse standing there. Beside her, hovering nervously with a small suitcase clutched to him, was a boy. A small blond. "Well, I'll be damned!"

"Most likely, yes," the nurse said smoothly, with a warning in her eyes. Duo rolled over and lifted his head to see them both right-side up instead of up-side down. "Be nice, Maxwell."

Duo threw her a wink, "Aren't I always?"

"Well, Quatre, this is where I leave you. Are you sure you'll be okay?" a man, just outside of Duo's range of vision, asked. The boy nodded mutely in reply, and edged his way into the room without so much as a backwards glance.

The boy, Quatre, shot Duo a wary look and shuffled over to his bed, setting the suitcase atop the blankets. Duo stared in fascination that such a meek, quiet little thing could have produced the keening wails from earlier. And he was quite sure it was the same boy, unless there were two small blonds walking around in the same set of clothes.

"So your name's Quatre?"

The boy jumped, whirling to face Duo with widened eyes. Mute, Quatre only nodded and, eyes shyly fixed to his new roommate, turned back to opening his suitcase. Duo frowned, folding his legs beneath him as he sat upright. "Mine's Duo. What's the matter, can't you talk?"

"No," the boy said softly, "I can talk."

"Oh, good. 'cause it'd put a real damper on conversation if all you could do was scream, eh? Real impressive stunt you pulled. Do it often?"

"...I don't know what you're talking about," Quatre said, picking an armful of shirts from his suitcase.

Duo gestured to the dresser, "Bottom two can be yours. Don't touch my stuff unless you want to get knifed," he growled menacingly, and was rewarded by the boy turning white as milk, large turquoise eyes staring the casual smirk on Duo's face with evident horror.

The smirk spread into a warm grin, and Duo let out a sharp laugh, "Couldn't resist, man. You need to relax. I'm not going to start drooling and ranting about the aliens coming or the vegetable mafia, so stop looking like you think I'm about to flip."

"Sorry," Quatre said very softly, settling his shirts into the drawer and smoothing out the fabrics with a shaking hand. "I've never been here before," he confessed, stealing a terrified glance over Duo, who grinned like the Cheshire cat. He seemed to shrink within himself, kneeling there before the dresser, and trembles shook frail shoulders.

"How old are you?" Duo questioned, pulling his long chestnut braid over his shoulder and snapping off the rubber band holding it closed. Quickly, he ran his fingers through the waved locks, shaking free the plait, and then started to rebraid the silken mass.

Quatre looked up, clearly started, but seemed to relax a bit at the normalcy of the question. "Sixteen, as of yesterday."

"Happy Birthday!" Duo cheered, but the answering look of misery from the young boy's face stopped his celebrations. "Oh. Wow, sorry, man, sucky present to end up here. I'm seventeen, so, not that much older. 'course, there's no one over eighteen here! After that send you off to where all the real crazies. Aren't we the lucky ones, stuffed up here in the kiddy asylum!"

The boy turned away again, arranging the last of the shirts and going back to get another armful of clothes. This second bundle emptied the boy's suitcase of everything but a shoebox and a plastic bag of toiletries, which Quatre set in the top of the two drawer's Duo had allotted to him. The shoebox was lifted very carefully from the suitcase and Quatre seemed to hug it close before turning and setting it carefully on the nightstand. Blue-green eyes flashed quickly over to Duo, the anxiety swirling there unmistakable.

"Hey, I'm not going to snitch your stuff," Duo protesting, spreading his hands in supplication. "I swear, I'll leave your junk alone if you stay away from mine. So long as you don't got nothing dangerous. I'll get in trouble, too, if you're stashing away razors."

Quatre shook his head, blond locks dancing, and lifted the shoebox lid with reverent care. Setting the lid aside, he drew up a cream-colored teddy bear with dark brown paws and a thin black bow tied around its neck. Duo blinked amethyst eyes in surprise several times before letting out a peel of laughter that startled the boy. Quatre backed away hastily and tripped over the edge of carpet, sprawling unceremoniously to the floor with the bear still clutched tightly to him. Wide eyes stared up at Duo with a mixture of bewilderment, fear and apprehension.

"A stuffed animal at sixteen?" Duo scoffed, unaware he was being cruel. "I've seen crazier." He paused, then laughed without mirth, "I've been crazier."

Cautiously, Quatre gained his feet and edged around until he could reach the suitcase to close it. Without looking at Duo, he tucked the suitcase underneath the bed and sat gingerly on the mattress, fingers absently smoothing out wrinkles from the white comforter. "Don't laugh, please," he said in a very small voice, and the tone cut the smile off Duo's face more effectively then anger would have.

Awkward silence drifted between them before Duo grinned brightly once more, "Sorry, man. But it's funny, I was expecting some shrine to the green monkeys or a box full of broken bites of bone - you know, some genuinely crazy shit. Instead, it's just a fluffy badger."

"Bear," Quatre correct in the same wounded tone, but daring to lift his eyes to look over at Duo. "He's a teddy bear."

"Does he have a name?" the older boy returned with perfect seriousness, face solemn for once. "He should have a name."

With a shy smile, the blond nodded. "Sandrock," he replied quietly, but with a bit of eagerness creeping into his voice. The boy turned slightly to face Duo, displaying the teddy bear. "But I call him Sandy for short," Quatre confided shyly, a faint pink color rising to his cheeks just before he looked away again, holding his bear close.

"That's a good name for him," Duo said with the same serious manner as before. "Is that all that was in your box?"

Abruptly, Quatre's face when carefully blank and the boy rose to set the lid firmly back on the shoebox. The boy's back remained to Duo for a long time and, after a minute or two, he saw the thin shoulders begin to shake with quiet sobs. Offering his roommate some privacy, Duo rolled across his bed so that his back was to the other side of the room. He reached across his nightstand and took up his book, reading the same paragraph three times before realizing the effort was futile.

"Hey, Quatre?" he called, rolling back and sitting upright with the same motion. "They showed you around the place yet? Not much to see, but at least you should find the bathrooms."

Back still to Duo, Quatre shook his head and gave a soft sniff, lifting an arm to use the sleeve as a means to scrub at damp cheeks. "No," he said in a tear-streaked voice.

"Well, come on. I got some friends I want you to meet, too."

Quatre turned slowly, head ducked low and Sandy raised before him like a shield. "Okay," the boy sniffed again, withdrawing in on himself with blond hair falling across his forehead like a wispy veil.

"Hey," Duo said at the door, turning with a grin. "Welcome to Hell"

The blonde's eyes widened in shock and Duo laughed, "Get it? Saint Helen's Psychiatric Hospital. Helen. Hel'. Hell! ...I'm so clever."

Quatre merely nodded, a faint trace of a smile on his face. As his roommate bounced out the door, the younger boy hesitantly followed, wondering just what kind of friends Duo had.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Hello! This is the author writing to you from the future. I published this in March, 2004 and, right now as I am typing, it is December, 2011. Thank you for reading!

This story had been on a hiatus for quite some time but is now finally being updated. If you are re-reading the story, please realize that FFN's format changes over the years mean that quite a few of the chapters are missing line breaks and italics. I'm very sorry about that and hope to fix it soon. In the meantime please be patient and, if two paragraphs look like they don't belong together, it's probably because the line break is missing.

Also! There are known a few continuity errors. I'm aware of them, and I'd like to fix them someday, but right now I'm focused on getting out the new material after neglecting my writing for so long. If you are reading this story for the first time… uhhh please don't let all this apologizing scare you away! I really hope you enjoy the story, and thank you for reading.

copyright 2004 (2011) - Gundam Wing and characters (s) Sunrise  
(LSC) - Violet Nyte


	2. Meeting a Friend

LSE // 3-12-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Two: Meeting a Friend)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Meeting a Friend  
  
-   
  
Duo watched Quatre's face as the boy took in the hospital wing's cheerful, albeit childish, decorations. A mingled look of fear and misery still occupied the boy's face, and he clutched the teddy bear close. "Like the décor?" Duo asked, affecting a posh accent, but the boy just looked over at him, perplexed. "Marvelous color palette, don't you think?" he pressed, determined to get something of a smile from Quatre. The walls, pristine and white, were adorned with murals every so often. "Service projects," Duo explained, gesturing to a particularly ornate rendering of a tree, each leaf containing a well-wishing from one of the painters. "Not exactly Rembrandt, but it's something to look at, at least."  
  
The boy nodded mutely, shuffling along beside the older boy and taking everything in with wide eyes. Duo gave a jaunty wave to the nurse's station as they emerged from the hall and into the common room. Like spokes from a wheel, seven halls fanned out from the center of the compound. Four of the halls contained patient rooms, two for males and two for females, and the rest were for therapy and administration, the former being strictly off-limits to patients. The hub of the building was comprised of the cafeteria, library and the large, open common room, which contained little nests of rooms separated by only side walls or plexi-glass partitions.  
  
"The cafeteria's through there," Duo explained, gesturing to a pair of double doors. "Library's just over there. They have a point system here, and it takes five points to get into the library, like that's any reward. Movie night's on Fridays, but it takes ten points to get in." The older boy turned, pointing to the closed doors of one of the therapy halls. "Through there is the video room, but they got a TV in here, too."  
  
As he spoke, they turned a small corner and found the television in question, a rather large unit firmly affixed to the far wall. Couches and chairs, only half of which were occupied, sat arranged around in a seemingly random pattern. A few faces turned towards them as the two boys entered, but all except one soon lost interest and turned back to the game show in progress.   
  
"Tro!" Duo called cheerily, waving enthusiastically despite the returned look of stoic reservation. The boy in question stood with a cat-like grace, weaving through the furniture before coming to a stop in front of Duo. Quatre gazed up at the taller boy with the same mix of apprehension and wide-eyed wonder.   
  
"Trowa, this is my new roomie, Quatre."  
  
Trowa nodded, looking at the younger boy with his one visible emerald eye, the other being obscured behind a long sweep of russet bangs. He wore a dark green turtleneck in the middle of summer, Quatre noted, but the ward seemed to be kept chilly thanks to a strong air conditioning. Faded, narrow jeans clung attractively to the older boy's long legs, and Quatre's fair cheeks colored as he took notice.  
  
"Great," Duo said sarcastically, "two mutes. And I thought just the one was bad, eh Trowa? Where's Wufei?"  
  
Trowa shook his head and looked expectantly across the open area, to the library doors.   
  
"Of course. Damn, I don't think I got five points, either. It's almost dinner, I'll introduce you to him then, Quatre. ...Quatre?"  
  
The small blond stood rigid in place, eyes impossibly wide and arms clutching the bear, Sandy, so tightly to his chest that the muscles trembled with the effort. Following the boy's unfocused stare, Duo saw a tall, distinguished man in a suit standing by the nurse's station talking to the same man who had dropped Quatre off so unceremoniously. Duo and Trowa both looked at the younger boy with wary concern, eyes meeting in a silent agreement.   
  
"Quatre?" Duo tried again, reaching out and settling a hand one thin, quivering shoulder. He registered a brief surprised at how fragile the bones felt beneath his hand, but ran a judging eye over Quatre's thin frame and noticed the way his clothes draped over the bones. Anorexic, or just malnourished?  
  
At the touch, Quatre jolted back to himself, turning wide, frightened eyes on Duo. For one brief moment, Duo saw a desperation wavering through the sorrow and fear in those turquoise eyes before Quatre turned and fled back the way they had come. He ran swiftly, like a frightened rabbit, startling the nurses and stopping the men's conversation.  
  
"Hey!" Duo called after Quatre, exchanging another glance with Trowa before giving chase, the taller boy's strides easily outpacing him. A nurse caught Trowa's sleeve, but he easily jerked free of her grasp and kept going. With his name for causing trouble, they were quick to grab Duo and hold him, the on-duty nurse demanding answers.   
  
"Hell if I know!" Duo growled back, putting up a struggle to keep the nurses from going after Quatre and Trowa.   
  
"Was that my son?" one of the men asked, and Duo craned his head around to see the fair-headed man looking curiously down the hall. Quatre's father? Enough resemblance, even if the man lacked Quatre's soft, expressive features and slender build.  
  
Down the hall, Quatre hesitated, eyes frantically scanning the room numbers until he found his own. Flinging himself into the room, he whirled and started to shut the door but found it blocked by Trowa. With a startled cry, Quatre released the door knob and stumbled back, knees catching the edge of the bed and causing him to sit heavily.   
  
Trowa raised one finger to his lips and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him but making no move to come any closer. Curling his knees up, Quatre hug his bear close with one arm and his legs with the other, a soft keening wail coming from the back of his throat. If the noise surprised or annoyed Trowa there was no sign of it as the stoic boy stood there, head leaned back against the door as he listened attentively to the hall beyond.  
  
"I don't think anyone's coming," Trowa said softly, and the sound of the boy's quiet, gentle voice broke Quatre's reverie. "Are you going to be all right?"  
  
Slowly, Quatre released the white-knuckled grip on his knees and looked up at the taller boy, who remained standing against the door. Blond hair danced as he nodded his head reluctantly, not meeting Trowa's concerned gaze.  
  
With a slight nod, Trowa started to turn away as if to leave. "Wait," Quatre implored, voice thick with unshed tears, "don't go."  
  
The boy turned back, one eyebrow raised in question as he looked to the bed. Nodding, Quatre gestured faintly to the empty space beside him. Trowa crossed the small room and sat carefully, turning towards the younger boy with an expression that Quatre immediate read as questioning concern. Before he could say anything, however, Trowa looked abashed and spoke, "What's wrong?"  
  
He thinks I can't understand him unless he speaks, Quatre realized.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Trowa tried again in the same gentle tone, speaking slowly and carefully.  
  
Quatre hesitated, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the boy's concern. The fear that had gripped him so completely seemed a distant memory here in the relative safety of his room. He let his eyes wander over the crumpled sheets and disordered mess of Duo's side of the small room, noting with some alarm a half-eaten candy bar on the nightstand. Do we have an outside wall? Quatre wondered, looking at the solid wall Duo's bed was pressed up against. A rectangular patch of wall looked newer then the surrounding area; had there originally been a window?   
  
"It's okay if you don't want to," Trowa said stiffly, and Quatre quickly turned his attention back the boy with an apologetic smile. Surprised by the sudden smile, Trowa simply watched Quatre for a moment or two, uncertain what action to take next.  
  
They both started at the sudden sound of footsteps in the hall, and Quatre froze as he heard the unmistakable lilt of his father's voice. A high whine stuck in his throat and the boy looked desperately around the small room for an escape route. The sounds stopped just before the door and, abruptly, it flew open and bounced off the wall.   
  
"--myself!" Duo snarled, stumbling into the room and whirling to face the pair of orderlies who had been escorting him.  
  
Hovering out in the hall, Quatre's father caught sight of his son and scowled, "There you are."  
  
Trowa looked over with concern as Quatre suddenly went completely blank -- not even fear registered in that dull, glassy stare. Turning back to the two on the bed, Duo glanced at Quatre's face and exchanged looks with Trowa. The taller boy gave a slight lift of one shoulder and nodded his toward the man out in the hall.  
  
The man who had dropped Quatre off looked nervous and kept adjusting his tie. Now that Duo saw him up close, he could see the unmistakable Arabian tilt to the eyes. He was looking at Quatre with concern and what seemed to be genuine affection. In sharp contrast, the other man's eyes held no warmth, and his mouth pulled down at the corners, as if he did not smile much at all.  
  
Quatre's father came forward and fixed the small boy with a disdainful glare, "I see you brought that insufferable stuffed animal of yours, even when I gave certain instructions that it was to be left behind."   
  
Quatre made no response, but his arms flinched, clutching Sandy closer to his chest. He stared at a spot on the wall somewhere just over his father's head, eyes and face carefully blank.  
  
"Pity, I was hoping they would confiscate it from you. Your roommate seems unstable, I believe I'll talk to the doctors again about getting you a private room. Although, the experience may give you some character. That clinic was too soft on you. You won't find any coddling here, Quatre. See that you don't embarrass me anymore then you already do, hm?" the man raised one gold eyebrow before turning and walking out without so much as a goodbye.   
  
The other man hesitated, "Your sisters want to come visit. I'll ask the nurses when visiting days are before we leave. ...Quatre?" the man asked, then waited until it became clear Quatre was not going to acknowledge him. "Take care," he said awkwardly before leaving.  
  
Trowa stood and set a cautious hand on Quatre's shoulder, feeling the tensed muscles beneath the thin shirt. He nodded briefly to Duo before walking away, hands in his back pockets and head lowered to send those long bangs sweeping even more over his face. Blinking slowly, Quatre let out a sigh that twitched more towards a whimper and fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.   
  
For some reason, he found himself missing the stoic boy's presence. 'I'm all alone here,' he realized, rolling on to his side and curling one knee to his chest. 'Just Sandy for company.' At that thought, he clutched the bear tighter to him, burying his face in the soft fur.  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Okay, I think I have enough for one more chapter. I'm suppose to be packing right now... _ hehe.   
What's wrong with the boys? And what about Wufei? You'll find out in the next chapter!   
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	3. Dinner for Six

LSE // 3-24-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Three: Dinner for Six)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Dinner for Six  
  
-   
  
"Well. Your dad seems quite the bastard," Duo remarked brightly, the springs of his bed squeaking as the boy threw himself on it. Bouncing once before sprawling out, he rested, chin in hand, and watched Quatre's quivering form.  
  
The blond rose up slightly, staring at Duo in surprise.   
  
"You okay now?" Duo asked, brows dipping in momentary concern before smoothing back out to a wolfish grin. "You should have started screaming again. Just really messed with your dad's head, ya know? Does he always act like he has a stick up his ass?"  
  
Quatre gave a ghost of a smile and shook his head, but the action seemed to merely dismiss Duo's question rather than answer it.  
  
"What's the matter, did Trowa convert you to silence? Come on, talk. 'Cause we got fuck else to do here until dinner."  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Quatre asked softly.  
  
"Trowa? Depression. He's been in and out of these places for the past four or fives years. They'll medicate him back to what they think is normal, then send him home to his sister. It never lasts. He showed up here after slashing his wrists back to the bone. I've known him for about six months now, and he's never said a word to me. Or anyone else, for that matter."  
  
The younger boy's eyes widened as he sat upright on the bed, "But..." Quatre hesitated, frowning with confusion.  
  
"Not even his sister. She comes every week and he just sits there watching her. Doesn't even smile. I think they've been throwing around theories that he has a personality disorder, but I don't think that's the case. I can carry out a conversation with him pretty easy. It's not very hard, you just have to try. Did you get along okay?"  
  
Quatre nodded, still trying to work out his confusion. Trowa had talked to him so casually, and the boy hadn't said anything to anyone in so long? Why him?  
  
"That's good. He's a nice guy. So," Duo said, leaning forward with a wide grin across his face. Looking at his roommate carefully, Quatre could see dark circles under the boy's bright eyes. Chestnut bangs framed a pixie-like face with a wide, full mouth that never seemed to stop smiling, and the long braid snaked down over a slender column of pale throat. The all-black outfit set off the pallor of the boy's skin with startling affect, and lending him a somber note that only lasted until one noticed the impish grin. "What are you in for?"  
  
"Me?" Quatre said with evident surprise, recoiling back and holding Sandy closer. "What do you mean?" he asked, heart racing madly in his chest.  
  
"You don't have to say if you don't want to. Here, I'll start," Duo said eagerly, refolding himself into a more comfortable position. "My name is Duo Maxwell and I'm bi."  
  
"Polar?"  
  
"That, too!"  
  
A soft blush rose to Quatre's cheeks, "Oh."  
  
Duo tilted his head to one side, "You don't have a problem with that, do you? Don't worry, I won't jump you in your sleep." He paused for effect, looking thoughtful, "Unless you want me to, that is..."  
  
"No," Quatre said quickly, then blushed a furious shade of red. "It's not a problem at all, but... I..."  
  
"Am I not your type?" Duo pouted, batting his eye lashes coyly.  
  
"Can we just be friends?" Quatre pleaded, feeling panic pressing up against him from all sides.   
  
Something of it must of shown on his face, for Duo instantly dropped the teasing and offered a reassuring smile. "Really, don't worry about it. I already have someone." The smile changed, softening, as Duo looked down at his hands and, following the boy's gaze, Quatre saw the silver bands on both his roommate's ring fingers. When he spoke again, Duo's voice was husky, "Maybe you'll get to meet him."  
  
Silence stretched between them, and Quatre shifted uncomfortably at the sudden change in Duo's demeanor. "They don't know what I have, exactly," he offered abruptly. "I don't know, either. Anxiety, mostly. And..." he let the rest fade off, shrugging thin shoulders.  
  
"Do you scream like that often?" Duo asked brightly, once again all smiles and cheer.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Quatre insisted, refusing to meet Duo's eye. "Who is Wufei?"  
  
His roommate raised an eyebrow at the change of subject, but made no comment. "Wufei's my friend," he said slowly with a Cheshire-cat grin. "You'll meet him at dinner, if he shows up. He's been here a little longer then Trowa. Almost a year, I think. I can't remember exactly."  
  
"How long have you been here?"  
  
"Here or hospitals in general?" Duo shot back, but didn't wait for an answer. "Let's see, two years ago I got sent to a school for troubled youth, that's where I met Heero. After four months there they sent me to a clinic for a few weeks, then I got sent here. I went back to the school after a couple of months, but came back here about a month before Wufei showed up. I ran away three months ago, but that didn't even last a week. Been here ever since. That answer your question?" Duo tilted his head to one side and grinned, the expression sending a small shiver down Quatre's spine.  
  
Before Quatre could dwell on it, however, a soft chime sounded out in the hall. "Dinner!" Duo chirped, jumping off the bed.  
  
Quatre scrambled to his feet and followed the boy out the door. "How old is Trowa?" he asked, hurrying to match Duo's brisk pace.  
  
"Seventeen. Wufei's sixteen, like you. Trieze is nineteen, and Meiran's fifteen."  
  
"Who?" Quatre asked, frantically trying to think if Duo had mentioned these people earlier.  
  
Duo slowed his stride and looked over at the shorter blond. "There's something you have to know about Wufei. He's got multiple personalities."  
  
Unable to help himself, Quatre stopped walking and just stared at Duo in amazement. "Split personalities? I didn't know that was real. I heard it was just something people made up."  
  
"You'll think different once you meet them. Don't mention it to Wufei, though. He thinks they're separate people."  
  
"What?" Quatre reached out and snagged the boy's sleeve, preventing him from walking away. "He doesn't know he has split personalities? How is that possible?"  
  
"It just is. To him, Meiran is as real as you or me. Trieze, too. The doctors want to try and make him realize the truth but... You'll understand once you meet them. I trust you, Quatre. You have a good heart, just remember they really are different people. They just share one body, that's all."  
  
Duo started walking again, and Quatre followed numbly. 'He trusts me?' He repeated the words over and over until tears pricked at the edge of his vision. The young boy wasn't sure why Duo's trust meant so much to him, but it made him steel himself for whatever this Wufei turned out to be like.  
  
The double doors that had been closed earlier were now open, and a steady stream of patients were shuffling in. Duo led Quatre through the crowd and into the line, picking up two damp trays from the stack. "Looks like they're calling it meat balls and noodles today. I hope you like rubber and glue, because that's what it tastes like."  
  
Quatre eyed the lumpy brown mass that the food server so unceremonious scooped on to his plate but said nothing. Duo seemed to do enough talking for the both of them. "Want some bread? Weevil free on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays! And we're in luck, today's Monday. I'm going to get chocolate milk, I think. And green jello. Give me green jello, or give me a sharp object! Ooh, maybe I want blue instead. I had blue yesterday, though. Ready? Come on, my table's over this way."  
  
They carried their trays over to the farthest wall from the doors, and Quatre immediately spotted Trowa sitting across from a young Chinese boy wearing thin wire-framed glasses. The boy had long, shiny black hair that was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to float around dignified features. The plastic fork danced as the boy waved it in the air to emphasis whatever he was saying; the words did not become clear until they drew closer.  
  
"...and he's stolen my second-best slippers again. I can't imagine where they've been hidden away."  
  
"Probably in the cook pot," Duo said, sitting next to the boy, who Quatre assumed to be Wufei. "Have a seat," he ordered to Quatre, pointing to the empty chair next to Trowa.  
  
The older boy looked up at the blond and gave a small smile of recognition, scooting his tray over to make room for Quatre's as he sat. Nodding a quick hello, Trowa frowned in concern and gestured slightly with one hand.   
  
Aware of Duo and Wufei's eyes on him, Quatre hesitated for only a quick moment before answering with a slight smile of his own. "I'm feeling much better, thank you," he said carefully, watching for the reaction. Trowa nodded with another trace of a smile, turning his attention back to Wufei. By the looks on Duo's and the Chinese boy's faces, Quatre had done something right.  
  
"Quatre, this is Wufei. You've already met Trowa. Wufei, Quatre's my new roommate, so play nice."  
  
"Don't I always?" Wufei snapped in reply, applying his fork to the unappealing mass on his plate.   
  
"He's a real charmer," Duo explained with a grin, tweaking Wufei's ear.   
  
The boy scowled darkly, "You want to lose that hand, Maxwell?"  
  
"A complete doll," Duo assured with a wink, which did not go unnoticed by the Chinese boy.  
  
Scowling darkly, Wufei pointed to the grey lumps on Duo's plate with his fork, "Eat, Maxwell." The other boy stuck out his tongue in reply, but applied himself to shoveling in food all the same. That matter settled, Wufei turned sharp, intelligent eyes on the quiet blond, who sat there watching with a dazed expression. "You, too. It looks worse than it tastes, I promise."  
  
Struck by the boy's suddenly light tone, Quatre hastily dropped his eyes to his plate and poked at the unappealing mass. So far, Wufei seemed normal. Actually, they all did. He risked to glance up and observed his companions shyly as he lifted a forkful to his mouth. True enough, it did taste marginally better then appearance suggested.   
  
Watching his new friends, Quatre wondered if he was the only crazy one among them. Trowa's eyes followed the conversation, and occasionally Duo or Wufei directed a question to him. The answers were always nonverbal, either by nods or gestures, and his two friends seemed to easily understand him, even with some of the gestures resembled no sign language he knew. Still, Quatre held the knowledge that Trowa had, however briefly, talked to him, and that thought drew his secreted glances over to the tall boy beside him.  
  
As if having sensed his thoughts, Trowa looked over and raised one eyebrow, a question in his eyes. It took Quatre a minute to recover from shock, and it was only when he saw Wufei taking Duo's tray that he realized what the question was. "Oh, yes, I'm done," he said quickly, letting Trowa take his tray. The two boys went off, and Quatre found himself alone with his roommate.  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Sorry about that, right after I posted that chapter I quite literally walked out the door and I just now got back. Good news is I didn't neglect my writing on the trip, and I have a whole notebook of story to type! I'm staying home tomorrow to rest, relax, unpack and type. I hope you're enjoying the story!   
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	4. Descending

LSE // 3-25-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Four: Descending)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Descending  
  
-   
  
Duo favored him with a wild grin, leaning forward on his elbows. "What do you think? Sane as a nun, ain't it?"  
  
"...what?"  
  
"Wufei. Doesn't seem like he belongs here, hm?"  
  
"I suppose," Quatre muttered, feeling the heat of a blush on his face. Were his thoughts so easily read, or had Duo come to the same conclusion long ago?  
  
"Just wait," his roommate murmured, looking off into the cafeteria. Turning, Quatre searched for a few moments before he saw the object of Duo's focus. Wufei and Trowa stood in line, trays at hand. As they watched, the two stepped forward and set the trays on top of the stack after first dumping off the contents. For some reason, Duo's grin widened, "Watch! See? Look at him carefully."  
  
Wufei turned to look behind him with a confused frown. He raised a hand and brushed out the tie holding his hair back. The glossy black locks fell forward to sweep lightly across the nape of his neck and, with the same distracted motions, Wufei produced a second tie from his pocket. Trowa glanced over and took Wufei's arm, pulling the dazed boy aside before he got lost in the small crowd.  
  
"What's wrong?" whispered Quatre, even though the two boys couldn't possibly overhear him.  
  
"Meiran, probably. Trieze usually leaves the hair alone," Duo explained, gesturing and, if on cue, Wufei reached back and captured the dark tresses into twin bundles. With the same fluid, trance-like motions, the boy slipped off his glasses and tucked them away into a pocket.  
  
Quatre watched in amazement at the transformation that came over the Chinese boy; in mere seconds, the boy's face lit up into a completely new expression, one of intelligence, still, but of a different sort. A sly, cunning smile twisted the usually stern features, creating an overall impression that popped the word 'vixen' into Quatre's mind.   
  
Quatre alternated between staring and desperately trying to hide his gaze as the two boys returned. He cast a desperate glance to Duo, only to find his roommate grinning back with an enthusiasm Quatre did not feel through the building panic.  
  
"Duo!" Wufei called cheerfully, flouncing down into the seat. That was disturbing enough, that the seemingly reserved Wufei could flounce anywhere, but the next words stopped Quatre's blood cold. "Where's Wufei? Did I just miss him?"  
  
Only Trowa saw the sudden look of panic on the small blond's face. He wondered if Duo had given the boy any preparation. Knowing Duo, he was getting a kick out of shocking Quatre. All of the looked at the younger boy, however, when he jerked to his feet, chair skittering backwards. Trowa shot Duo a dark look of accusation, but the startled look that was returned dim Trowa's suspicions. Being told and seeing it happen were two different things, after all.  
  
"Who are you?" Wufei -- was it even Wufei anymore? -- demanded, dark eyes flicking over Quatre's face. He stuck out his hand, "I'm Meiran."  
  
"Meiran," Quatre repeated, voice sounding unnaturally shrill even to his own ears. Calmly, Trowa set a hand on Quatre's shoulder, and he jerked his head up at the older boy so suddenly that spots danced in front of his eyes.  
  
'I trust you,' Duo had said.  
  
With effort, Quatre pushed the panic away. "Meiran," he said again, in a far more normal tone. "I'm Quatre."  
  
"Charmed," Meiran said lightly, smiling prettily, but her eyes spoke of wisdom, the vixen concealed but ready to emerge if the need called. Her eyes seemed to analyze every inch of Quatre, just as sharp and intelligent as Wufei's. Meiran cocked her head to one side, looking up at Trowa. "Hello, mister silence. How is your arm?"  
  
To Quatre's surprise, Trowa flushed crimson and snuck a quick glance in his direction before shrugging. The tall boy gave a vague wave and turned, hands going into his pockets as he left, giving him a casual stroll that none of the other patients seemed to have. Quatre watched him leave, bewildered by the sudden exit. What was that about his arm? Maybe Trowa had hurt it earlier. Before he could put much thought into it, however, Duo caught Quatre's arm at the elbow.  
  
"Hey, roomie, we better clear out before they start looking for you," Duo said brightly, already starting to lead Quatre away.  
  
Meiran followed, watching Quatre with the same curious look as before. "Did you just get here? Wufei hasn't mentioned you." She paused, "Have you met Wufei?"  
  
Sensing Quatre's discomfort, Duo offered the answers instead, "It's just his first day. He's my new roommate, and he just met Wufei. He hasn't met Trieze yet."  
  
"All the better," Meiran answered promptly with a coldness that startled Quatre. "Trieze hasn't said a word to me since last Thursday, but I can't say that's a bad thing. Forgive me, Quatre, but I simply can't stand that boy."  
  
"Maxwell," called one of the nurses as they entered the main room. "Don't forget to take your medicine. You, too, Chang."  
  
Duo scowled darkly, but obediently walked over to the station anyway. A nurse was already handing Meiran a plastic cup with two pills inside, and one approached Quatre with a similar offering. He glanced at it in surprise, then edged away.  
  
"I don't take any medication," he said softly, trying to make a quick escape.  
  
"Nonsense. Your doctor from the clinic sent us the prescription in your file. Come along, Quatre, don't be difficult," the nurse cajoled, the last bit rising to almost a threat.  
  
Quatre tossed his hand and moved further away, but the nurse snagged his wrist quickly, holding him firm. Captured, he struggled, suddenly frightened without really knowing why. "No!" Quatre gasped, "I don't want them!"  
  
"Hey," Duo protested, noticing the commotion. "You gotta down the happy pills, roomie, or there's hell. Trust me, I know."  
  
Insistently, Quatre shook as his head as confusing memories of grey haze and red pains fogged his mind into a panic. "I don't!" Quatre pleaded, "I don't." The words lifted up into an anxious wail as he futility tried to pull his arm free of the nurse's persistent grip.   
  
A buzzing filled his ears and his head felt full of cotton. Dimly, he registered a high keening scream echoing off the walls, but Quatre lost the battle for a rapidly scattering sanity just as a sharp prick of pain brought on a rushing darkness. The screams seemed to go on, long after everything went black.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Let me the fuck go," Duo growled, trying in vain to push around the orderly keeping him back. Several patients started to peep in from the surrounding area, drawn like buzzards to the kill. Duo had no idea what had just happened; one minute he was palming away his meds, the next Quatre was in full freak out mode. Was the little blond that scared of his medicine? One of the nurses had helped her coworker's attempts to soothe Quatre, but that was when things went to hell.   
  
When the younger boy had first arrived, Duo had been amused by watching the chaos resulting from Quatre's fit. Now, however, amusement was the farthest thing from his mind. Through the gaps between nurses and orderlies, Duo caught occasional glances at the boy has as he flailed, his screams bouncing off the walls. Painful to watch, the scene demanded Duo's interference, even though he just barely knew Quatre.   
  
Suddenly, there was a cry of pain, and everything went abruptly still. When the orderly relaxed his hold slightly, Duo broke forward in time to see Quatre collapsing fluidly. An orderly caught the small blond roughly, hauling him upright before swinging the dead weight up into his arms with evident disgust. The young boy's head rolled back, exposing a slender column of pale throat. The boy's eyes were closed without even a flicker of the yellow lashes, and Duo hesitated long enough to be stopped by a nurse's flung out arm.  
  
"What'd you do to him?" Duo demanded, but none of them answered. They kept him back as the orderly carried Quatre down the hall towards the room, but no one kept Duo from following. Meiran trailed along a little ways back, but soon disappeared just as they reached the door. Unceremoniously, the orderly laid Quatre on his bed and left without a backwards glance.  
  
Duo glared at the orderly's back, but as soon as he passed from sight, whirled and quickly sat on the bed beside his roommate's still form. "Hey, Quatre! Hey," Duo called, reaching out to shake one frail shoulder.  
  
"What happened?" Meiran - no, Wufei, Duo amended, turning to see the Chinese boy in the doorway. The wire framed glasses perched once again on the boy's dignified nose, and only one neat bundle pulled the glossy black hair away from his face, but it was the stern expression that identified the main personality better than any other feature. Trowa stood over Wufei's shoulder and, seeing Quatre lying there, slipped around the boy and went to sit on the opposite side of the bed from Duo.  
  
"I don't know. Either he fainted or they tranqued him," Duo sighed, just as Trowa pointed to Quatre's left arm, where the shirt sleeve was rolled back to expose a small welling of blood over a puncture mark.   
  
"Tranquilized," Wufei hissed, face darkening into a scowl. "Who knows when he'll wake up now. What happened?"  
  
Duo sighed and offered a shrug, "He freaked out and started screaming again."  
  
Trowa nodded and tapped his ear to indicate he had heard.  
  
"Again?" Wufei raised one dark eyebrow. "When did he do it before?"  
  
"When he first arrived, I think you were with Une, then."  
  
Wufei nodded, "Well, he seemed okay, if a bit scared. You make the weirdest friends, Maxwell. Barton," he nodded to Trowa, then turned to leave, no doubt for the library.  
  
"Well," Duo sighed, once the other boy had left. "I promised Heero I would call."  
  
Trowa nodded and sat more comfortably on the bed.  
  
"You don't have to sit with him. He'll probably be out the rest of the night, Tro."  
  
The older boy shrugged, watching the sleeping blond's face with a look Duo couldn't identify. Gently, Trowa reached out and brushed some stray pale locks back from the boy's face.  
  
"Suit yourself," Duo said as he rose, still trying to work out Trowa's motives. "Watch out, Trowa. He probably doesn't even go your way. Remember what happen--" Duo broke off abruptly seeing the dark look of warning on Trowa's face. "Okay, fine, I'm just saying. He just doesn't strike me as your type, and he didn't look thrilled to hear of my preference."  
  
Trowa raised one slim brow, and Duo scowled in return.  
  
"Okay, so that doesn't necessarily straight, point taken. Whatever, right? May be you just want a friend, hm?" Duo didn't need to look at Trowa's face to know what reaction that last comment earned. "Hey, sorry. You watch sleeping beauty all you want, Tro. Just don't let him hurt you... and if you hurt him, I'll mess you up."  
  
Duo turned at the door and grinned at the look of bemused doubt on his friend's face. "I could if I wanted to!" he replied to unsaid accusation.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When Duo returned that evening, just minutes before lights out, he found the room much as he had left it, except now Quatre lay under the sheets with the boy's shoes neatly set on the floor. Trowa rose as soon as he entered, and only gave a slight shake of his head before leaving. "No change, then," Duo muttered, eyeing the sleeping boy.   
  
"Light's out!" called a nurse, and the ward plunged into darkness. Duo sat there on his bed staring across the blackness to where he knew Quatre lay, wondering what secrets his roommate kept.  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Poor Quatre! Yes, I'm so mean. ^_^! hehe. Thanks so much for all the reviews!! I hope to see more of my regular readers pick this story up, but I'm always thrilled to see new faces!  
Can I get chapter five out tonight as well? I hope so!  
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	5. Conversing with Duo

LSE // 3-26-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Five: Conversing with Duo)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Conversing with Duo  
  
-   
  
At first there was only darkness and silence. He floated in oblivion, keeping careful distance from the too dark corners that held pain and sorrow. After what could have been an eternity or a second, the black faded to grey and Quatre stood in the family room of his father's home, facing a semicircle of people.   
  
Directly in front of him, his father sat in the tall, black leather chair from his office. Next to him, his eldest sister sat in a smaller version of the same chair. On his father's other side, the back of a pale blue rocking chair faced Quatre, and his heart thudded ominously in his chest as the sight of the achingly familiar women seated in the chair, only the back of her head and shoulders visible.   
  
His other sisters completed the ring, and, as he approached, they closed in around him to make a circle. Quatre walked forward, mindful of his father's angry glare. Vera, his oldest sister, looked indifferent as she balanced a little girl on her knee. His niece stared at him with cold blue eyes, and Quatre felt an icy chill down his spine.  
  
Still, he walked towards the rocking chair. "Mother?" he called, hesitating just an arms length away. "Mother?"  
  
No one answered, and his family's stares drove daggers into his back. "Mother!" he cried, reaching out to grab her shoulder. The material of the dress compacted under his hand, and she collapsed in the chair, reduced to mere fluttering of cloth and hair. Quatre cried out as nothing but a cloud of dust rose from where he mother had been.  
  
"You killed her!" Vera whispered fiercely, and her daughter echoed the cruel accusation.  
  
"You took my wife!" his father spat in disgust.  
  
"Mother's gone, and it's all his fault!" his sister wailed, some of the younger ones sobbing with grief.  
  
Quatre began to cry as well, turning in a circle as he searched for a friendly face. "It's not my fault! Please -- father!"  
  
Hard eyes answered his pleas, "You are no son of mine."  
  
"No! No!"  
  
"Hey, Quatre!"  
  
"It wasn't me! I --"  
  
A hand clamped firmly over his mouth, ending the hoarse cries. Quatre sobbed, still half asleep and trying to forget the nightmare. "Hey," said a soft voice above him, and Quatre opened his eyes to find darkness all around. He squirmed, panicked, but the hand on his mouth pressed tighter. "Quiet, or they'll come knock you out again. Okay? Hey, you're okay now. If I let go of you, will you be quiet? Yes?"  
  
Quatre nodded slowly, having finally recognized it as Duo. Cautiously, the other boy removed his hand, and then sighed in relief when Quatre remained quiet but for the fading sobs. "Duo...?" he questioned, wondering if fright if the blackness was just for him. Quatre recognized the feel of the bed around him, and also that, although tucked in, he still wore all his clothes, save his shoes.  
  
"It's dark in here with a window. Here," Duo offered, shifting to sit on the bed. There was a click, and then a soft light flooded the room. Duo hastily set the flashlight against the covers so that only a pale, muted light remained.  
  
Sitting up in the bed, Quatre wiped away salty tears and avoided Duo's curious gaze, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "How did I get here?" he whispered, hugging thin arms around himself. He felt Duo's eyes searching his face, but did not look up.  
  
"You started freaking, so they knocked you out."  
  
"I did?" Quatre turned his head away. "What time is it?" he muttered, peering around the dark room.  
  
"Almost four, I guess," Duo glanced at his watch, and then lowered it closer to the flashlight for confirmation. "You gonna go back to sleep?"  
  
"I'm not really tired," Quatre admitted, curling tighter and watching Duo carefully. The boy wore a half grin, a mixture of concern and amusement and, despite the late hour, seemed wide awake. "I'll be quiet so you can sleep," Quatre assured him, reaching around in the covers for Sandrock.  
  
"Hm? What's wrong, Quatre? You've gone as pale as milk."  
  
"I can't find Sandrock," he whispered, starting to panic.  
  
Duo frowned, "Sandrock? Oh, your bear."  
  
Quatre nodded miserably, taking the bed apart in his frantic search. Firm hands grabbed his, stopping the search as Duo made a soothing sound, "Hey, it's okay. You had him in the cafeteria, right? You must have dropped him there at the nurse's station. In the morning we'll go ask, okay?"  
  
"What if they threw him out? What if my dad told them not to give him back?" Quatre hugged his knees and buried his face into them, shivering trembles that had nothing to do with the cold.  
  
Duo frowned in thought, "He's that important to you?"  
  
The blond nodded, tears starting to well in turquoise eyes.  
  
"Okay, then!" Duo bounced upright and patted the younger boy's knee. "You just wait here."  
  
"Duo?"  
  
"White with a black ribbon, right?"  
  
"Duo!" Quatre hissed in a whisper, looking anxiously around the room.  
  
"Relax, I've snuck out hundreds of times. I'll be back before you know it. Sandy safe and sound," he winked and was gone before Quatre could further object.  
  
Sitting there alone, Quatre noticed the odd shadows on Duo's side of the room. Carefully, he picked up the flashlight and aimed the beam to the other bed. He gasped softly, amazed at the sight before him. Stacks of papers covered the bed along with books and, in the center, a small electronic keyboard.   
  
Quietly, he crept off the bed and went over to peer down at the scrawlings on the papers. Page after page of musical notations and sheet music stared up at him, all of it in what he assumed to be Duo's messy handwriting. Columns of lyrics framed sketches of all sorts, and Quatre moved the flashlight over the bed to find an open box of oil pastels.  
  
"He's an artist," Quatre breathed, admiring the talented drawings. One caught his eye, and he reached out, hesitantly pulling it out from under a blank sheet. To his surprise, his own sleeping face lay on the page in a rough pencil sketch. A few lines of poetry were in the corner, and Quatre lowered the flashlight to read them.  
  
From light and shadow, a heart undiscovered  
A fragile trust is building, yet you cry  
Fallen angel without the  
  
The poem ended there abruptly, and Quatre felt a burning shame at invading Duo's privacy this way. 'I'll leave your junk alone if you stay away from mine,' Duo had said. The words chased Quatre away from the bed, and he hurriedly climbed back into his own. Maybe if he asked Duo the boy would share some of his drawings and songs. Quatre wondered if the boy sang any of the songs he wrote, or if he just created them.  
  
Thinking of how Duo had captured his sleeping form so perfectly, Quatre had to acknowledge the boy was talented, and reflected on the tragedy that Duo was stuck here, instead of out in the world sharing his works.  
  
He jumped as the door started to open and quickly flicked the light off, burying under the covers. Listening carefully, he caught the faint sounds of someone coming in, and then the door closing. Quatre closed his eyes tightly as the person approached his bed, but snapped them open when a soft fur brushed his cheek. "Sandy!" he breathed, reaching out to clutch the bear close, breathing in the faint smell of lilac and roses.  
  
"Safe and sound," Duo announced quietly, "just as promised."  
  
"Oh, thank you!" Quatre sat up and offered the flashlight out blindly, knocking it against some part of Duo. With a short laugh, the other boy put his hand over Quatre's and flicked the light on before taking it away. Heart in throat, Quatre watched as Duo settled himself on the bed amid all the scattered projects. Would he notice one out of place and know Quatre had been snooping?  
  
"So," Duo said softly, but with good humor, "I'll ask again, do you scream like that often?"  
  
Hugging Sandy, the small blond sat upright and shook his head, "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Duo raised an eyebrow, but let the subject drop. "Well, I hope Meiran didn't startle you too much. Better her than Trieze, though."  
  
"Is Trieze bad?"  
  
Duo laughed, "Not really, he's just different. A complete opposite of Meiran or Wufei, in some ways. Don't worry, you'll get use to them. Just don't let Trieze get you off alone."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
Duo changed the subject without real effort, "I think Trowa likes you. He doesn't like very many people. Not that he's mean or anything, he's just a bit... reserved."  
  
"I like your friends," Quatre said softly, blushing furiously. "Even Wufei, and Meiran, too. How long have they been like that?"  
  
Duo shrugged, "Never asked, I guess. They don't always wants to talk about the past. Most people with multiple personalities get 'em because of childhood trauma, you know."  
  
Quatre's eyes widened and he hugged his bear closer. Flashing an odd grin, Duo picked up a notebook and searched around for a pencil. After a moment of silence, Quatre broke it with another question, "Why does Trowa not say anything? He isn't -- I mean... could he talk if he wanted to?"  
  
"Oh, I imagine so," Duo said carefully without looking up from writing. "He hasn't always been a mute. About nine years ago he just stopped talking. Cathy told me once. Well, actually, she was crying it to Trowa and I happened to over hear. 'Nine years and you won't even say why!' she said. Poor Tro, he just looked at her. Maybe he's forgotten how to talk, or he lost his voice so long ago he can't ever find it again. Who knows.   
  
"But don't let it bother you; he'll talk in his own way if you listen. You've already figured it out, though, haven't you? I'm kind of surprised. He just stares at the doctors, or looks at the walls. Won't even nod or shake his head at them, but he'll carry on conversations with me and Wufei like he does, without words and all. I guess that's a good thing, because a guy can't say nothing forever. Everyone needs friends, even Trowa."  
  
"I'll be his friend," Quatre whispered, too soft for Duo to hear. Again he wanted to tell Duo about how Trowa had talked to him, but Quatre held back, not even sure why. Something told him to keep Trowa's secret, and so he did.  
  
Determined to keep the silence filled, Duo looked up briefly before turning his attention back to the notebook. "How do you like it here in Hel'? Sucks, doesn't it? What was that clinic like?"  
  
"Clinic?"  
  
"Your charming father mentioned that you'd been at a clinic before this. I've told you my life story, so let's here yours." Quatre knew he owed Duo some explanation, but the words stuck in his throat. Sensing the other boy's distress, Duo waved a hand at him to dismiss the question. "Don't worry, we all have our shadows. Say what you want or say nothing at all, I don't care. I'm friends with Tro, aren't I? I can do enough talking for two people."  
  
Quatre braved a smile, "I noticed."  
  
His roommate tilted his head to one side, looking at Quatre with a wide grin before laughing so loudly Quatre nearly shushed him. Duo quieted on his own, however, and went back to his writing. Curiosity overcame caution, and Quatre lifted his head as if trying to see what the other boy was working on. "What are you writing?" he asked ingenuously.  
  
"A story," Duo glanced up with a sly smile. "Just a little story."  
  
"Oh? What is it about?"  
  
"Betrayal, murder, illicit love affairs, heart-break. I'm channeling Poe, it seems."  
  
Quatre smiled, "May I read it? When you finish, that is."  
  
"No," Duo said shortly, moving some papers aside. "I don't let anyone read them. They're just short stories anyway. I can never write anything longer, like a novel," the boy sounded sad for a moment, but quickly brightened. "It's nothing personal. I just don't let people read my stories."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You can read some of my poetry, if you want. I wrote songs, too. I'm just a mongrel artist, it seems." Duo grinned proudly, waving a hand at the scattered projects around him. "I draw, paint, and sculpt. I write stories, poems and songs, but I can't do algebra or cook."  
  
Quatre blinked in confusion, and then smiled, "You can't cook?"  
  
"I managed to ruin pop tarts."  
  
"I've burned them before," Quatre confided. "It's easy to do."  
  
"It burst into flames and broke the toaster, which fell off the counter and nearly took off Heero's foot." Duo looked thoughtful for a moment, "Heero was pretty upset about that." Quatre opened his mouth to ask who Heero was, but Duo spoke again before he could. "You got any talents?"  
  
Slowly, Duo shook his head, but then hesitated and nodded instead. "I can play the violin."  
  
"Fantastic! I stick to guitar and keyboard, and I've heard Trowa can play the flute, but I've never seen him do it. We've got a music room, which is where my guitar stays. They count it as a potential weapon and say I can't have it in the room, but I think that's just to try and motivate me to earn points. I never have enough to get into the music room unless Dickie takes us."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Duo blinked at him, then cracked a impish grin, "You've not met Dickie? Oh, you're lucky. Maybe you'll get someone else for group. He's really Doctor Richards, but I call him Dickie just to piss him off. They'll give you a schedule tomorrow, because you'll have an individual therapist and a group therapist. Me, Wufei and Trowa are all in the same group; it's how I met them. I thought Trowa was my hero for just staring at the ceiling while Dickie quacked, but turned out he just did that to everyone. Wufei struck me as a real bore until he showed up as Trieze. That was great.   
  
"But that's all you'll have unless they give anything extra. Wufei sees a specialist three times a week, and Tro's got his thing twice a week. I don't have anything except a double session on Fridays."  
  
Quatre started to nod, but gave a long yawn instead.  
  
"Sleepy?" Duo asked brightly, still wide awake.  
  
"Aren't you?"  
  
"I don't sleep. My mind works the best at night and it'd be a shame to waste all that creativity. I'll turn the light off if you want to sleep. I see pretty good in the dark."  
  
"You haven't slept all night?" Quatre's eyes widened in disbelief.  
  
"All week, pretty much."  
  
"Duo! That's not healthy."  
  
To Quatre's surprise, the grin vanished and Duo glowered darkly, the light snapping off without warning. "What do you know?" he growled into the darkness, the sound of shuffling papers punctuating the furious words. "Go to bed."  
  
Wounded, Quatre sunk down under the covers, nuzzling Sandy close. He hadn't meant to upset Duo. Across the room, from the darkness, he could hear the scritch, scritch of pencil across paper, punctuated by occasional paper shuffling. Quatre couldn't even see Sandy in the dark, but Duo could see enough to write?  
  
"Goodnight, Duo," Quatre whispered softly, rolling away and shifting Sandy closer.  
  
The younger boy had already fallen asleep by the time Duo paused his pencil and turned the flashlight back on, a bit of sheet muting the pale light. On the paper, a second sketch of his roommate skewed slightly to one side, but otherwise gave no indication that the artist had not been able to see his work. Instead of sleeping, the boy of the paper stared out from the drawing, large eyes a window to a deeply troubled state of mind. Duo chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pencil, then jotted down a quick bit of poetry.  
  
The turquoise waters  
Convey the sorrow inside  
and offer no hope  
  
"Night, roomie."  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Whew! This one's long! Oh, well. I'll type as much as I can tonight, but otherwise you'll have to wait until tomorrow!  
I hope you like the story, and yay for reviews!  
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	6. Fitting In

LSE // 4-13-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Six: Fitting In)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Fitting In  
  
-   
  
Quatre woke with a start the next morning to find the room empty, Duo's bed cleared of all the things from the previous night. Sliding out from the bed, he gathered a change of clothes, and the little bag of toiletries, before going out to the hall, looking up and down for the showers, which he had forgotten to inquire about yesterday. After a mental flip of a coin, he turned left towards the end of the hall.   
  
Some of the doors to the patients' rooms were closed, but most were open with the occupants inside. Several watched as he went by, but some were otherwise busy. A boy passed Quatre having a conversation with the empty air beside him, and the sight sent a chill down Quatre's spine. At the clinic, the patients weren't so...  
  
Crazy.  
  
To his great relief, Quatre saw Trowa's trim form leaned against one doorway. The other boy wore a similar jean and turtleneck combination as the other day, but the top's forest green coloring deepened the russet sweep of hair and made his brilliant emerald eyes shine. Feeling a pink flush rise to his cheeks, Quatre approached Trowa and offered a shy smile. Trowa nodded a hello and raised one eyebrow at Quatre's clothed, rumpled from sleep. They were the same clothes he had worn yesterday, and his blush deepened.   
  
"I was just looking for the showers," he explained.  
  
Trowa nodded again and pointed down the hall. At the very end, Quatre could see two doors that did not match the patient rooms.  
  
"Thanks." Quatre stared up at Trowa's face and resisted the urge to brush aside the obscuring locks of hair from the side the silent boy's face, to expose the one green eye that remained hidden. "Why did you talk to me?" Quatre asked suddenly, unable to stand the secret gnawing at him. "Duo said you haven't talked to anyone in eight--" Trowa held up his fingers, pinky folded on one hand --"nine years, but... You spoke to me. Yesterday."  
  
Avoiding Quatre's pleading gaze, Trowa looked up at the ceiling and shrugged.  
  
"I won't tell anyone, I promise. Not even Duo." Trowa lowered his gaze from the ceiling and nodded slightly. Quatre hesitated, "Well, I guess I better go shower now... What time is breakfast?"  
  
Trowa lifted his hands again.  
  
"Eight? Thanks. I'll, uhm, see you there," Quatre said awkwardly, starting to leave, but turned hesitantly to find Trowa watching him, expression unreadable. Quatre offered him another slight smile. "Trowa? I'd like to hear you talk again sometime, but I think you talk just fine how it is. I'm glad you don't ignore me."  
  
Now Trowa's expression was perfectly clear: I'd never ignore you.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
After a quick shower, Quatre returned his pajamas to the room only to find Duo remained elsewhere, and the other side of the room looked untouched from when he first woke. Since it was already eight, he grabbed sandy and, bear tucked under one arm, went in search of the cafeteria. Fortunately, it was easy enough to remember the path Duo had taken him on yesterday, and he hurried into line behind a pair of young girls.  
  
"When I'm queen of the world, I won't have to wait in line," grumbled one of them.  
  
"Yes. The peasants will. Like little Russian women waiting for bread," replied the other with a toss of long honey hair.  
  
The first girl frowned, "What a horrid thought, Dorothy."  
  
The other girl, Dorothy, laughed airily and took her tray, sliding it along the buffet. "Did you hear all that screaming yesterday, Relena? I hear it's a new boy, some spazoid."  
  
Quatre shrank away, cheeks hot with embarrassment, and took his own tray while trying to stay back from the two girls. Relena shook her head, blond trembling over her shoulders with the motion. "We could ask Duo. That boy makes it his job to find out stuff like that," she said before catching sight of Quatre and looking at him carefully. "Hullo. I don't think I've seen you here before."  
  
"Oh, yes," Dorothy murmured, "I'd remember those baby blues."  
  
Quatre froze, hoping his panic didn't show. He lowered his head and nodded slightly, praying she would lose interest.  
  
"Shy. Or stupid," Dorothy muttered, moving ahead.  
  
"Hush," Relena admonished, but she left Quatre alone through the rest of the line. He watched her arrange the plates and food just so, and found something disturbing in the absolute perfection. Relena gave him one last curious look before leaving, Dorothy in tow, and deep in conversation about hair styles.  
  
Quatre hesitated briefly, trying to remember where Duo had went to sit last time. If Duo would let him sit at the table. Last night's sudden conclusion still made little sense to Quatre, but he knew beyond a doubt it was his fault. He moved to the far end of the cafeteria and soon spotted Duo's long chestnut braid, Wufei's dark ponytail and Trowa's auburn sweep. Cautiously, he approached the table, but abruptly changed his mind and went instead for an empty seat nearby.  
  
"Roomie!" Duo called cheerfully, waving Quatre over and pointing to the vacant spot beside Trowa. "I let you sleep in, but then forgot to go wake you! Find the showers okay?" Quatre nodded gratefully and took the offered seat, exchanging a small smile with Trowa. Duo paused to swallow a bite of toast, then continued speaking, "Have they put you up on the schedule yet? Judging by your face, not a fucking clue what the schedule is, right?"  
  
"Don't swear, it's so vulgar," Wufei put in, with a bored look of disapproval.  
  
Duo rolled bright eyes. "Yes, mommy -- OW!" he shrieked as Wufei gave him a smarting kick under the table.   
  
Quatre hid a smile and glanced over to Trowa, only to see the older boy staring off across the cafeteria. Following the boy's gaze, he found a young woman with jaw length brown hair standing in the cafeteria doorway, deep in discussion with a strange man in a doctor's coat. Quatre stared at the man's nose, or, rather, the striking lack of one. A dark brown prosthesis seemed to offer the suggestion of a nose, but the result was far from convincing.  
  
"Who's that?" he asked Trowa, but it was Duo who answered.  
  
"Catherine, but what's she doing here?"  
  
Wufei turned to look as well, "It's Tuesday."  
  
"Yeah, but, Tro, you have family at two, right?" Duo asked, glancing to his friend.  
  
Trowa nodded miserably and resolutely turned back to eating, as if to dismiss the woman.  
  
"Who is she?" Quatre asked again, even though he knew the answer. He just couldn't remember where he had heard her name before.  
  
"Tro's sister," Duo replied, watching the silent boy carefully.  
  
Abruptly, Trowa stood and, without any indication of goodbye, left with his tray, the food on it barely touched. The three remaining boys watched in silence as the scene unfolded; Trowa put his tray up and went to leave, his sister catching his sleeve as he passed. She hugged him soundly, but Trowa merely stood there, arms at his sides. Catherine spoke, smiling all the while, and gestured to the doctor, who nodded agreeably.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Simultaneously, Duo and Wufei shrugged and, taking this as a sign they either truly did not know or, more worrying, considered it none of Quatre's business, he tried not to watch, instead focusing on the meal. However, he kept one eye on Trowa, his sister, and the doctor, who all three remain in the doorway talking. Or rather, Catherine and the doctor talked while Trowa stood mute, studying the ceiling.  
  
"They think he's schizoid, you know," Duo said suddenly, startling Quatre.  
  
Wufei snorted, "They're probably right."  
  
"Oh, please. Trowa's no more schizoid than me, he just--"  
  
"Says nothing and has the emotional depth of a rock?" Wufei countered harshly, raising a hand to forestall objections. "In therapy, that is. They've got good reason to suspect it."  
  
"But what does that mean? Skitzoid...?"  
  
"Schizoid," Duo corrected. It's a personality disorder."  
  
"Loners," Wufei clarified. "Indifference to social relationships, little emotional response."  
  
Duo took up the explanation again, "They don't get all warm and fuzzy--" Wufei rolled his eyes and mumbled something that Duo pointedly ignored "--or make friends."  
  
Quatre frowned, "But Trowa has friends? We... you... I mean."  
  
Duo laughed, "Yeah, but what do the doctors know, right? It's the same label they slapped on Heero, but I think Trowa just doesn't care enough to tell them otherwise."  
  
"Yuy's a sociopath," Wufei muttered, then bit his tongue when Duo kicked him. "Well, he is."  
  
"Anyway, Trowa's no schizoid," Duo finished, picking up his tray.  
  
"What, where can I find the schedule?" Quatre stood as well, anxious not to be late, if he had anywhere to be.  
  
"I'll show you," Wufei offered, standing at last. Duo raised an eyebrow but said nothing, gathering up the trays.  
  
Quatre glanced to the doorway to see that the doctor had left, leaving just Trowa and his sister, who seemed to be crying as she spoke, face turned up to her brother's in supplication. After looking to make sure Quatre was following, he walked off, seemingly oblivious to the argument they were fast approaching. Or choosing not to acknowledge Trowa and his sister.  
  
"It's for the best," Catherine was saying, wiping at her eyes. "There just isn't the money.. Oh, Trowa. Just think about it, all right? I'll see you Thursday," she tip-toed up and kissed his cheek before leaving, right as Wufei and Quatre drew near.  
  
Trowa watched her go with an expression Quatre couldn't name, but the sight of it made him just want to hug the older boy. He started towards Trowa, but the boy turned without so much as a glance to his friends and left, long strides carrying him quickly away. Puzzled, Quatre started to follow but stopped, realizing Wufei was walking the other way, and talking to him.  
  
"What's with the bear?"  
  
Quatre brought Sandy out from under his arm and held him out in front, both arms fold over the bear's soft middle. He rested his chin on top of the bear's head. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Come on. It's weird, even for this place," Wufei added and, wounded, Quatre said nothing. After a moment Wufei realized his mistake, "Sorry, no offense meant. I was just wondering if maybe there was a reason."  
  
"I'd never leave Sandy behind," Quatre said softly. "That's his name. Sandrock."  
  
"Hm. Here's the schedule," Wufei announced, stopping near the nurse's station and pointing to a large dry-erase board. Along the left side was the patient's first initial and last name, then along top various columns of information, the first being points. Quatre his name and was dismayed to find he had zero points, same as Duo. Wufei, on the other hand, had twenty-six.  
  
"Where's Trowa?"  
  
Wufei pointed to T. Barton and Quatre saw the older boy had only four points. "They take away every time he doesn't talk in therapy," Wufei explained. "Doctor Richards is especially apt to start docking points for nonparticipation."  
  
Looking at the other columns, Quatre found them labeled for therapy and activities. His name had just two, individual and group, both of which were Monday through Friday. Wufei peered at the noted times, nudging his thin glasses higher on his nose. "Looks like you're in the same group as us. It meets from noon to one everyday; just after lunch. I guess you have the morning off."  
  
Quatre nodded, "But don't I have an individual session...?"  
  
"Oh, of course... Four thirty to five thirty, just before dinner at six. There's never anything after dinner unless it's punishment. Saturday and Sunday are free days, unless of course you're assigned extra therapy or chores," Wufei explained briskly.  
  
"You have a session at nine," Quatre looked at his watch for emphasis.  
  
Wufei raised one brow, "Then I bid you farewell. Without any points, you're better off just sticking to your room or the commons." He gave a slight nod of goodbye before leaving and, belatedly, Quatre realized he didn't know where the therapy rooms were. He'd have to ask Duo or Wufei later, after lunch.  
  
But what to do until then?  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Uh, this took a long time! Sorry. Tia, Kate and D didn't poke me hard enough for more chapters. What's up with that?  
Sorry this is so short, but I really want the next two sections to go in the same chapter. I'll try to get it out quickly!  
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	7. A Rough Encounter

LSE // 4-22-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seven: A Rough Encounter)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
A Rough Encounter  
  
-   
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Quatre wandered around the main area, but had no interest in television or socializing. He hoped to find Trowa or Duo, but neither boy was among the teens wandering around. Giving up, he started back to his room, but then remembered Trowa's room was in the same hall. Quatre hurried down to the right room and hesitated at the door; Trowa lay on the bed, back to the door. Quatre glanced to the brass plate beside the door, which had slots for two names, but only Trowa's was there. The room was identical to Quatre and Duo's, with twin beds and one dresser.  
  
"No roommate?" Quatre asked out loud, more to announce his presence than anything else. To his disappointment, Trowa gave no indication he'd heard. The boy's posture denied the possibility of sleep, however, so Quatre cautiously pressed forward into the room. "Trowa?"  
  
Still, no response, and Quatre backed out just as carefully. "Well... I'll be in my room, if you want to talk or anything," he said awkwardly, trying to hide the hurt from his voice.   
  
He started back to his room, head lowered to Sandy's. Had he upset Trowa somehow? Uneasy, Quatre decided Trowa most likely just wanted to be alone.   
  
So wrapped up in his misery was he that Quatre didn't see the two boys approaching until an elbow caught his stomach, knocking him down. Quatre landed hard on the floor but caught himself in time to prevent the unforgiving linoleum cracking his head.   
  
"Watch where you're going!" one of them snarled, and Quatre muttered an apology, searching around for Sandy, who had rolled free in the fall. At the same time, the taller of the two boys looked down at the teddy bear lying there on the floor, halfway between the small blond and himself. Quatre reached out, but the boy snatched Sandy up before the rightful owner could.  
  
"What's this?" the boy sneered, holding up the bear by one foot.  
  
"Please give that back," Quatre spoke softly, gaining his feet.  
  
The boy holding Sandy tossed a dark head of curls and exchanged knowing looks with his friend, a stocky boy with a nose that looked to have been broken a few times. "And if I don't?" the first boy challenged.  
  
"What do you think's inside?" Broken-nose asked with a smirk. "Maybe it'd be fun to rip it open and find out."  
  
"Give him back!" Quatre cried, surging forward to grab Sandy from the boy's grip.  
  
The dark headed boy jerked the bear back and grabbed Quatre's thin wrist easily, pulling the blond the rest of the way so roughly that Quatre lost his balance. Crying out with pain, he fell awkwardly to his knees at the boy's feet. "I didn't hear please," the boy said, twisting Quatre's arm.  
  
"Ah! Let go!" Quatre beat at the boy's iron grip with his free hand, but Broken-nose grabbed that flailing hand as well, pulling Quatre off balance once more. He brought a knee up into the small blonde's gut, and all the air left Quatre in one sickening gasp. Quatre stopped struggling, all efforts focused instead on drawing breath. Tears stung at his eyes, and Quatre would have screamed for help if only he could get the air. Panic overwhelmed him, causing sounds to dim under the rushing sound in his ears.  
  
Suddenly, the painful grips on his arms vanished, and he fell forward, forgot how to catch himself, and felt cool tile kiss his cheek. Spots danced in front of his eyes, swirling around in a blurred view of the floor -- and Sandy's paw. Tilting his head, Quatre could see the rest of his bear, lying there forgotten as the two boys hurried away. But what had made them leave?  
  
A hand touched his face, and a soft voice registered through the haze of confusion. "Breathe slowly, okay?" His rescuer helped him to his feet, and Quatre found himself leaning against Trowa, who presented Sandy to the trembling blond. Finding his breath at last, Quatre started to gasp painfully, desperately, but remembered whispered words and concentrated on slow, even breaths that calmed the mad racing of his heart.  
  
Trowa kept a supporting arm around him, guiding the smaller boy out of the hall and into Trowa's room. Just as carefully, Trowa eased Quatre onto the bed before sitting on the protesting mattress himself. He took one of the boy's fragile wrists into his hand, studying the way the pale skin already showed signs of bruising. The bones seemed intact, however, and Quatre felt no pain when Trowa gently rotated the joints.  
  
"Thanks," Quatre managed when he could, still feeling lightheaded and on edge, but Trowa's stoic presence grounded him, offering comfort.  
  
Trowa nodded and released Quatre's hand, reaching up instead to brush a tear away from the blonde's pale cheek.  
  
Not even aware he was crying, Quatre flushed crimson and turned his head away in embarrassment. A firm but gentle hand guided his face back around, and Quatre glanced at the frown on Trowa's face before avoiding the older boy's eyes. "Stupid bear," he whispered, hugging Sandy close before jumping to his feet, ready to leave. The room spun alarmingly as black spots danced over his vision.  
  
Trowa quickly caught him and set the smaller boy back on the bed. "Don't go," Trowa ordered, the look in his eyes anxious as he sat beside Quatre again. Nodding his acquiescence, it took Quatre a moment to realize Trowa had spoken. Before he could react, however, Trowa spoke again. "I'm sorry I ignored you before."  
  
Dazed, Quatre just stared at him before quickly finding his own voice, "It's okay. Thanks for helping me?"  
  
Trowa stared at his knees in thought, "Have you told Duo?"  
  
Quatre's brow creased in bewilderment, "Told him what?"  
  
"That I talked to you."  
  
"Oh," Quatre said in relief. "No, I didn't. I... I thought maybe you didn't want me to."  
  
"I don't. I guess. I don't know..."  
  
Trowa sounded so forlorn that Quatre impulsively embraced the other boy in a tender, reassuring hug. "Okay, then it can be our secret. And you don't have to talk if you don't want to."  
  
Trowa shrugged, "You're the first person I've talked to in nine years."  
  
"Why?" Quatre wondered aloud, genuinely confused. "Why me?"  
  
Trowa turned sorrowful green eyes on the younger boy, "I don't know."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Afraid of running into his two bullies, Quatre shadowed Trowa. They left Trowa's room and wandered through the common rooms, the tall stoic once more holding his silence. However, Quatre found the boy's company agreeable. Just as Duo had assured him, Trowa got along just fine without talking, even if a few of his gestures confused Quatre at first.   
  
Since he rarely had enough points to do anything else, Trowa mostly sat and pretended to watch television when he was actually watching the people. "Is this all you do?" Quatre asked after while, trying and failing to conceal his boredom.  
  
Trowa shook his head and gestured to the two of them before waving a hand to dismiss Quatre's presence. He lifted his left hand, fingers to thumb so that it made a circle, except for the index finger, which was raised. Quatre frowned, clearly puzzled, then realization dawned on him. "You talk to Duo?"  
  
Trowa nodded, showing him again the symbol for Duo, a lowercase "d" formed from his fingers. Trowa held up three fingers, spread apart, and pointed across the way to one of the corridors.   
  
"Duo and Wufei?" Quatre guessed, since this new sign resembled a "w."  
  
Trowa nodded again, pleased Quatre understood.  
  
"Do I have one?" Quatre asked in earnest.  
  
Trowa considered this for a moment, then lifted his hand, nimble fingers effortlessly forming the new sign. Unlike the others, this one bore no resemblance to any letters. The index and middle finger were crossed, as if for luck, but the pink remained up while the ring finger tucked underneath, held in place by the thumb.  
  
"That's me?" Quatre asked as Trowa settled his hands back in his lap.  
  
Trowa nodded and Quatre smiled, words starting to form on his lips just as Duo suddenly swung an around Trowa's shoulder. "Tro! Just the boy I was looking for! Have you seen Wufei? He's good at this, too. Anyway, I need a one syllable word that means sorrow."  
  
"Sad?" Quatre suggested, trying to recover from the surprise of his roommate's sudden appearance.  
  
Duo whispered under his breath, fingers flicking out in silent count, before shaking his head, "No, doesn't fit. Maybe I'll just rewrite that line entirely..." he plunked down into the chair across from them, feet landing with a thud on the low coffee table.  
  
"What are you working on?" Quatre hazarded, seeing Duo had a notebook at hand, and a much-chewed pencil.  
  
"A haiku.'Winter snow blankets, a lonely lover awaits, sorrow for company.' Except sorrow makes that last line six syllables," Duo complained, chewing on his eraser in thought.  
  
Trowa gave him a level look, which Duo returned, wide grin in place. "They're fun! Besides, Heero likes them even if he won't admit it. I want a few to give him Saturday. Even thought I'd illustrate them, too, if I found the time."  
  
Quatre considered it for a moment, but knew he wasn't much of a poet. It was Trowa who held out his hand with a small, knowing smile, and Duo turned the notebook over to him. Trowa wrote briefly, and then returned it. A beaming smile rose on Duo's face as he read it. "This is great! Thanks, Tro. 'Winter snow blankets, a lonely lover awaits, trapped by sorrow,'" he read, looking to Quatre for approval.  
  
"It's very good," Quatre assured him, shifting to set Sandy in his lap.  
  
Duo leaned forward, expression dark and deadly across his usually cheerful face, and Quatre froze, eyes wide with fear. His roommate reached out, a surprisingly gentle touch taking up Quatre's wrist. He turned the thin arm carefully to expose vivid blue-black bruises which were shaped almost perfectly in echo of the rough grip that had caused them. "Who did this?" Duo asked, all good humor gone from his face.  
  
Terrified by the abrupt change in the boy's demeanor, Quatre sunk into the chair, trembling. Trowa leaned forward and carefully freed the small boy's arm from Duo's grip and pushed the braided boy's hand back, giving him a stern look of reproof. Chagrined, Duo quickly hid the dark anger and settled for a trademark grin, eyes still glittering with the promise of retribution.  
  
"Quatre?" he questioned gently. "What's up? Run into some trouble?"  
  
Like a frightened rabbit, Quatre quivered and shook his head in frantic denial, eyes flicking between Duo and Trowa as his shoulders hunched -- drawing away, expecting a blow that never came. Duo threw Trowa a questioning glance, but the other boy's face betrayed nothing and warned against further insistence, so Duo let the matter drop.  
  
"Is Cathy coming later?" Duo asked, turning to Trowa, who shook his head in response. "Oh. Well, you'll see her Thursday?" To this, Trowa nodded. "Fantastic. And where is the charming Wufei?" Duo rambled cheerfully, glancing down to his watch. "It's almost lunch time."  
  
The normalcy had the desired effect on Quatre; the young boy relaxed slowly, but remained skittish and withdrawn, eyes flicking nervously around the room. He saw Wufei before the others, but kept silent, waiting instead for the Chinese boy to take a seat much as Duo had done, only with far more composure.   
  
Duo turned to him, delighted. "Ah! I have summoned the erstwhile Chang, who has been neglecting us of his delightful companionship."  
  
"Perhaps," Wufei responded dryly, "I wished a moment alone?"  
  
"Now, why would you want to be separated from my sparkling presence?"  
  
Wufei rolled his eyes and continued the friendly banter, and soon the three friends were deep in conversation, even Trowa, who offered the occasion nod or gesture. Quatre sat back in his chair, knees pulled up and Sandy close, and watched them, feeling a heavy sadness fall over him. Although they didn't mean to exclude him, he felt alone. Quatre had never had a friend before, or else he would realize that Wufei and Trowa were his friend's as well as Duo's, but he the thought did not occur to him. For that same reason, he felt no resentment at his exclusion.  
  
Quatre rested his chin on his knees with a sigh, and then realized that Trowa's eyes were on him. He started, looking to Duo and Wufei, but the two boys chatted, oblivious. Trowa reached out and lightly touched Quatre's knee, gentle concern plain on his face. Surprised, Quatre nodded without fully realizing the question, and Trowa sat back in his chair, still watching Quatre from the corner of one eye.  
  
Shaken that his thoughts had been read so easily, Quatre made an effort to look like he was following the conversation. Fortunately, just then a soft chime sounded over the ward, signaling lunch time. Duo immediately sprang to his feet and whirled on Quatre, a manic bundle of energy that grabbed the small blond and dragged him out of the chair. "Lunch!" he shouted cheerfully.  
  
"Excellent, Maxwell. You're going to make his eardrums bleed," Wufei said in a wry sort of tone, already walking sedately towards the dining hall with Trowa.  
  
"I bet today's Salisbury steak day," Duo was saying, letting go of Quatre's arm. "Carrots, mashed potatoes and milk. I like chocolate milk the best, because it doesn't taste like chalk. Chalk doesn't taste good. I should know, I ate chalk once. I forget why."  
  
Quatre felt himself cheering up as the four of them went into the cafeteria and loaded up their trays. He knew they were trying to include him as much as possible, and he felt a surge of affection for his roommate. At the clinic, no one had made an effort to get to know him. Then again, he hadn't wanted them to.   
  
Wandering over to the far side of the room, Duo and his friends plunked down in the same spots as the previous two meals. Although there did not seem to be a seating arrangement in the dining hall, everyone understood the unspoken claims. Wufei and Duo carried most of the conversation, their amicable banter needing little input from Trowa beyond the occasional shake of the silent boy's head. Quatre, for his part, was content to watch.  
  
And he forgot entirely the bruises on his wrists, even if Duo did not.  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: Whew! Took me long enough, didn't it? Sorry about that! The problem is I ever want to type, I want to keep writing! I started another notebook and I write in it when I'm not busy with class, so, yeah, lots more fic to come! I'm sorry the last chapter wasn't very exciting, I hope this one makes up for that.  
Thanks to everyone who reviews the last chapter -- wow! Your reviews give me motivation to continue, thank you very much! I'm trying something new, giving responses to reviews, please let me know if you like it or if you think it's stupid ^_^() I've seen other authors do it and I thought it was kind of neat, because it shows how much I appreciate reviews. I especially loves reviews that give me feedback on the story -- what you liked, what you didn't like, what your thoughts are while reading it and all that. So, here it goes!  
-  
Tia, you're so obsessed with Wufei!  
Hotaru7 - Thank you very much! I'm so glad you appreciate the set up. I didn't start this with a short fic in mind, and I have lots planned, so I am taking my time to explain everything and introduce all the characters.  
Die Spitze, DarkEnglishRose, Akenna and Solo's Ghost - Thanks! I'll try to update as fast as I can!   
D, I always post as soon as I can  
Patty 40, Yoko Sakino and Cat - Thanks, and please don't beat me, Cat! Here, here, I'm updating!  
Pia Bartolini and Hikaru - Sorry you found it uneventful, but it's still early in the story!  
Merit Somnia, lil mi1, Zero Wolfwood and lisha - ouch, Lisha, you poke hard! lol! Thanks for the reviews, gals, I hope you like chapter seven  
Mistress Blaed - thank you for a very detailed review! I'm glad you found Duo's little explanation funny ^_^ I enjoy writing Duo's dialogue, it's a nice balance to all the angst. Not that I don't love angst...  
  
Well, there you are. Please tell me what you think! Should I give responses? Yes, no? I'm deeply sorry if I missed anyone, I'm recovering from illness and it's postmidnight! ^_^ see you in chapter eight! (Yes, there will be a chapter eight, no matter how long it takes me to post!)  
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	8. Group Therapy

LSE // 5-2-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eight: Group Therapy)   
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Group Therapy  
  
-   
  
Quatre clung close to his friends' side, darting glances out of the corner of his eye at the mulling groups of patients, nurses and doctors along the hall. This was to be his first time at a therapy here, and he uneasily thought about the clinic, and his treatment ther. Saint Helen's was a state-run hospital and, although one of the better adolescent hospitals, was still no where near as nice as the clinic, which was a private, expensive and exclusive.  
  
He stole a glance over to Duo's laughing grin, Trowa's faint smile at the joke that had just been told, and Wufei...  
  
"Wufei?" he asked, slowing his pace, not wanting to risk Duo getting ahead, but not wanting to leave the Chinese boy behind. Fortunately, Duo and Trowa turned back, curiosity evident in the braided boy's expression, a stoic acceptance on the other's. A vague confusion on his face, Wufei stopped walking as trance-like motions removed his glasses...  
  
"Ah!" Duo said cheerfully. "Grab his arm, Tro. Dickie'll piss himself is we're late. As much as I'd enjoy watching that, I'm sure Quatre doesn't want to get on the quack's bad side right from the start."  
  
"Is he...?" Quatre hesitated, hanging back and hugging Sandy close as Trowa and Duo each took one of Wufei's arms, leading him forward.  
  
Twin bundles of inky hair, defined by elastic ties that snapped into place with a practiced grace. The vague look vanished, and Meiran jerked her arms free. "I don't need an escort, boys," she chided, tossing her head valiantly and causing the pigtails to bob and sway.  
  
"Of course, m'lady," Duo smirked, as the four of them neared an open door. His went in without hesitation, but Quatre took one last look back at the now empty stretch of hallway behind them before following.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The first thought that struck him as Quatre took in the room was that it was nothing like the clinic. However, group therapy had not been part of his treatment there. Folding chairs, perfectly arranged in a circle, occupied the majority of the space, right in the middle, and beyond that the room was sparsely furnished. An impressive oak desk crowded into the corner, an out of date computer sitting blank on the desk, fighting for space among open books and stacks of paper. Against the far wall, towering bookshelves broke up the dull expanse of white walls. Soft blue drapes framed the window that streamed in a pale, yellow sunlight.  
  
Quatre turned his attention to the chairs as Trowa lazily took one, sinking into a slouch that seemed unusual for Quatre, so accustomed to the boy's aloof elegance. Three of the chairs were already filled by two young girls and a man who could only be the doctor. He was younger than Quatre would have thought, with light brown hair that fell around his soft face, gentle waves that went almost to his chin. Turning from conversation with one of the girls, the doctor smiled pleasantly and rose from his chair.  
  
"So nice of you to join us, boys. Please take your seats," he said, gesturing to the remaining chairs. Quatre clung to Duo's shadow, wary of being noticed, but the doctor turned to him with the same easy smile in place. "Quatre, welcome. Have a seat where you wish, and we can get started."  
  
Duo flashed him a wicked grin and threw himself into a chair, the metal creaking ominously under such harsh treatment. Meiran sat stiffly, hands folded and shoulders squared. Timidly, Quatre took the empty seat between Duo and Trowa. Directly across the circle, one of the girls was looking at him curiously, and he recognized the face from breakfast.  
  
"Relena," the doctor said, addressing her. She turned her face to him with a glowing smile. "If you would please start. Everyone just say your name, please, so that Quatre may get to know us."  
  
The girl tossed her long, flaxen hair and flashed a charming smile, "My name is Relena Darlian."  
  
Next to Relena was an empty seat, and so everyone's attention turned to Meiran. She lifted her head in a challenging manner, "Meiran."  
  
Doctor Richards nodded thoughtfully at hearing the name, and that was the only response from the group at the alternate personality's presence. Quatre realized they probably recognized her. Duo's turn came next, and he stood with a rather goofy formality. "My name is Duo Maxwell and I'm wearing black silk boxers with red embroidered dragons."  
  
"That you stole from Wufei," Meiran muttered.  
  
All eyes turned to Quatre, and his own eyes sought the floor with a desperate shyness. He hugged Sandy close, a fine, pale curtain of hair feathering around the edges of his vision, and felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment as the silence became strained.  
  
Duo flung an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, "This is Quatre, my roommate. And this is Sandrock," he announced, gesturing vaguely.  
  
The two girls exchanged glances, and the doctor's eyebrows raised as he jotted something down on the notebook in his lap.  
  
"The bear," Duo clarified, in case any of them thought he might be referring to something -- or someone -- invisible.  
  
Quatre's blush flared crimson, but he felt a rush of gratitude to his friend. Something held him back from speaking, some unknown fear, a lurking reluctance that raced his heart and still the tongue. It had been like that at the clinic; silence that hurt.  
  
"Thank you, Duo," Doctor Richards said frostily, clipped words expressing his disapproval effectively.   
  
"No problem, Dickie," Duo chirped back, earning a slight chuckle from Meiran and a furrowing of brows from the doctor.  
  
"But perhaps in the future, you should let Quatre speak for himself," Richards continued, glossing the condescending words with his calm smile, a smile that Quatre was starting to dislike. "If you would, Quatre, introduce yourself to the group."  
  
Again, all eyes were on him.   
  
Waiting.  
  
Panic flared.  
  
He tried to calm himself, tried to form the words, but they refused to come, and he feared opening his mouth, lest he would be physically sick.   
  
Everyone waited for him to speak.  
  
Suddenly, a warm hand touched his thigh, and he lifted quavering aquamarines to find Trowa looking at him with... Comfort. Reassurance.  
  
"Quatre," he whispered, hunching around Sandy as if to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.  
  
Satisfied, Richards turned to Trowa, and the atmosphere of he room changed; Relena and her friend exchanged glares, Duo glowered at the doctor, Merian's eyes danced and snapped with smoldering fury, Quatre lifted his head from his intent study of the floor, and Doctor Richards smiled impassively at Trowa, patience heavy on his young face.  
  
For his part, Trowa stared up at the ceiling, face totally devoid of emotion. Silence overcame the group, and from the bored and amused looks on Relena and her friend (the former's bored countenance softened by a sympathetic smile) it was obvious this happened every time the doctor expected Trowa to speak. Duo broke the silence, his voice tinged with anger "Quatre already knows Trowa, Dickie."  
  
"If you had any points, I'd remove them." Richards replied, silken voice caressing the threat. "That goes for you as well, Trowa." With a dismissive turn of his head, the doctor faced Relena's friend.  
  
She smiled, almost smug, and lifted her head, the fluorescent light shining off her gold tresses. "Dorothy Catalonia," she purred.   
  
Although the two girls, Relena and Dorothy, had the same, long, flaxen hair, they were obviously unrelated. Dorothy's eyebrows swooped up like a hawk's, giving her a hauty, sophisticated look her mannerisms did nothing to deny. Relena, however, had a gentle face, that of a doll, coddled and pampered. Her hands, delicate and pale, bore no signs of ever having swung a stick or thrown a ball in play. The long, manicured nails were frosted pink to match her outfit: penny-loafers white socks, a kneelength skirt, and a bubblegum pink cardigan. Twin braids swept back the hair from her face, letting the rest fall neatly down her back.  
  
"And I am Doctor Richards. It's a pleasure to have you join us, Quatre, and I'm sure all your friends think the same. Now then, let's get started, we only have an hour after all. Quatre, let's--"  
  
"Hey, Dickie," Duo called, smoothly interrupting the doctor. "I had a dream where I was a tree and these squirrels were on my branches. Then one of the squirrels put on a suit and ran to the office with a suitcase. The squirrel got stopped at security, and they searched the briefcase and found a bomb inside so the squirrel laughed just before the toaster was done," Duo rambled, and Quatre turned to look at his roommate in amazement.  
  
Even Doctor Richards looked taken back for a moment, "I see, Duo."  
  
"So, Dickie, I was wondering what it meant. The bomb worried me because the squirrel was friggin' armed. I mean, a squirrel, with a bomb, in a briefcase, although the fact that he was wearing a suit was pretty whacked out." Duo grinned impishly at the doctor.  
  
Richards sighed, "However pleased I am that you chose to share that with the group, I'm afraid we don't have the time to get involved in a discussion of your dreams. Perhaps that is something you could bring up at individual therapy. As I was saying--"  
  
An arm rose into the air. Startled, Richards and most of the group looked over to Meiran, her arm jutting up defiantly into the air. "Yes, Wufei?" he asked, blinking at the Chinese teen.  
  
"Meiran," she corrected, lowering her arm. "Doctor Richards, I am very interested in finding out what Duo's dream meant. You see, I, too, have dreamt of squirrels. However, the squirrels in my dreams were on trees, and did not wear suits, nor did they have bombs in suitcases. Is there a correlation between Duo's and I's dreams, or are they unrelated but the appearance of squirrels?" she asked with a completely straight face and serious tone.  
  
Doctor Richards took a moment to compose himself before replying, "I am not aware of any psychological meaning a squirrel may have. Again, thank you for sharing, but this is really a topic best left to your individual therapist. As I was saying--"  
  
"Oh!" Relena cried suddenly, and everyone turned to look at her. "Doctor... how could you?" she wailed, pointing an accusing finger at Richards' desk.   
  
Quatre saw no fault or cause for alarm on the desk, but Relena leapt up with another moan of dismay. She hurried over and hovered at the corner, one hand poised above the two coffee mugs that sat there. For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved. Relena's blue eyes faintly snapped with quiet rage as she glared defiantly at Richards.  
  
"Relena," the doctor said at last with a great patience. "We've discussed this before. I let you set up the chairs and you do not comment on my desk."  
  
"But, Doctor Richards, both of these mugs are used! I remember the white one was here Friday, and this blue one from yesterday. Oh, doctor, please!" she wailed, pulling her hand away in alarm. She turned to the rest of the desk, frantically straightening the papers and books into orderly, perfect rows.  
  
Quatre watched Relena with wide-eyed wonder as the doctor rose from his chair and went to calm her. He turned bewildered eyes to Duo, only to find his roommate grinning back at him with a cat-ate-the-canary look. Quatre blinked in surprise, and then Duo winked. "Isn't this fun?"  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Between the three of them, Duo, Meiran, and Relena, Doctor Richards was kept so busy he never got around to questioning Quatre. Duo, Quatre knew, deliberately provoked the doctor's attention away, and Meiran seemed a likely ally, but Relena helped the cause by accident. Before he knew it, Doctor Richards was interrupting Duo's shared rambling with, "Time's up, group. I'll see you all tomorrow and hopefully we can make some progress. Duo, please stay a minute."  
  
"Sorry, Dickie, G's expecting me."  
  
Richards smiled, "I'll write you a nice note. We have a few things to discuss, Duo."   
  
Duo made another gesture when the doctor turned, then gave Trowa a level look full of meaning. Quatre looked between the two boys, but failed to catch the silent conversation. Trowa nodded and turned away, a slight indication of one hand signaling Quatre to follow. Meiran had already vanished, and the two girls had their matching golden heads together as they left, involved in a furious exchange of whispers.   
  
Out in the hall, Quatre hurried up to match Trowa's large stride and yawned. With nothing to do for over three hours, a nap was looking nice. He felt tired, and not just sleepy tired, but a heavy, lethargic feeling. He missed his home, his big feather bed with clean cotton sheets. The rose gardens, his mother's gardens, her pride and joy. Now, in high summer, the roses would be big and full, petals fluttering off as more bloomed, crimson, pink, and yellow. He remembered the sound of his own footsteps against the path, the gentle wind trembling through the bushes, and the warm sun basking away a young boy's fears.   
  
But then Quatre opened his eyes, and faced the reality.  
  
-  
  
-   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Author's Notes: This chapter is entirely due to my fantastic friend and muse Holly, who offered to take what I had written and type it. If I can bribe her into typing more often, I'll have faster updates!  
This coming Sunday, the 9th, in my birthday, and it is also Prom weekend, so I won't have a lot of free time. I'll try to work hard and beg Holly to type again for me ^_^ Expect more Meiran, Wufei and Trieze in the next chapter! There WILL be a chapter nine, I promise!  
  
I hope everyone's liking this series so far, I really appreciate all the reviews I'm getting!   
Since no one said anything one way or another, I'll keep giving responses to reviews here in the notes.  
D - ouch! I think Duo's rather noble in this chapter ^_^() in his own way  
Pia Bartolini - This is my first attempt at 3+4 being the main pairing, usually I'm a die-hard 1x2 writer! Thank you! I'm actually impressed with the number of reviews I'm getting, but I'll gladly take more! ^_^ Oh, I here you! I want Heero just as much as you do!  
Dark-English-Rose - ^_^ I love writing dialogue for Duo!  
Tia - Darling... I love you ^_^() is this soon enough?  
lil' mi1 - What will Quatre make of Heero? I can't wait!  
Akennea - I will!  
Duo's hanyou - yes, Duo's going to find out, but I won't give away what he does! Heero's going to appear eventually, don't you worry! I'm too much of a 1x2 fangirl to leave him out  
Die Spitze - I see Trowa as a very protective person. Sandy does have a nice secret, but you'll have to wait!  
Camillian and Patty 40 - Thanks ^_^ was this update soon enough? I'm trying, I swear!!  
Cat - oh the problem isn't with the ideas, it's just getting them down on paper... and then typed up on the computer! I can write during my classes, but then I have to type it later...  
Die Spitze - Two reviews for the same chapter?? I better update faster next time! ^_^  
Merit Somnia - You betcha! Is this soon enough? ^_^() School kills my free time and my muses, but only a few more weeks and then NO MORE SCHOOL! (well, college)  
And then to my MM.org readers!  
  
Lord Koryuu - Actually, I don't think the two are anything alike. No offense, but have you even read "Asylum"? Maybe you should re-read it.  
SweetasStrychnine - Thank you, I love your pen name!  
pyrzm - Thank you, I can't wait for Heero and Trieze either! Unfortunately, they have a time and place for their grand entrances ^_^() my muses are very strict on that!  
GoldenRat - You'll have to keep reading to find out! ^_^ I'll try to update quicker next time  
animeotaku418 - I promised I'd update again! Heero *will* be in this 'fic, because I am a total 1x2 fangirl. A sociopath is someone who doesn't relate to society or social situations... kinda like a psychopath, only a psychopath lacks emotion (think Hannibal Lecter or Charles Mansion) A sociopath is really up there in terms of insanity. There is no cure, too, for a sociopath or psychopath.  
SadisticAngel Noho - Thanks for trying again! I hate when computers just randomly shut down. I swear I'll be updating this as fast as I can! ::shifty eyes!::  
Alexandra06 - Heero will be coming soon, I promise!  
  
Thanks everyone for the reviews! I hope I didn't miss anyone.  
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2003 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
Email me to join my Update ML!   
LSE - Violet Nyte (VioletNyteML@yahoo.com)   
shameless plug - visit my website   
http://violetnyte.fallenweb.net 


	9. Stunned

LSE 9-6-04  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Nine: Stunned)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi  
  
Stunned  
  
-  
  
Idly combing out long raven hair, Meiran sat before the cramped writing desk. She plucked out a notebook from the drawer and opened it, flipping through the filled pages until she found a blank space. Slender fingers lowered the comb and selected a pen from the holder before Meiran began to write, neat print filling the lines.   
  
-July 9th, 2:28pm   
Went to group therapy. Quite uneventful, but it was Quatre's first time. He seemed nervous - quiet boy, isn't he? Duo got me to help him keep Doctor Richards away. Went very well. I think the doctor punished Duo later for it.   
Trieze, you need to stop sulking. I guess I can forgive you for calling me a slant-eyed bitch. Will you forgive me for calling you a slut, even if you are one? As much as it pains me to admit it, the ward is too quiet without you.   
  
Meiran flipped back a page to read Wufei's latest entry. The journal, Miss Une's idea, was kept dutifully by the three of them; Trieze reluctantly, Meiran casually, and Wufei with a crisp, professional's attention to details. When Trieze did bother to write at length, his entries covered subjects that Meiran, at least, could go without knowing.   
  
-July 9th, 10:15am   
Maxwell's roommate ate breakfast with us. Maxwell wants him to be part of our group. The doctors must agree for he is in our therapy session. At least Barton seems to like this addition to the group. I only find myself thinking that this roommate is at least better than the last. He is of my own age and does not talk much. Maxwell should follow this example.   
After breakfast I showed Winner (Duo's new roommate) the schedule. The bear that he carries is named Sandy. No further information could be received from the boy about the bear. I do not care. I doubt he is the type to hide a knife or drugs.   
Therapy with S was uneventful. I followed Doctor Une's advice and kept quiet. I do not think Doctor S appreciated my silence. I will report this to Doctor Une tomorrow.   
  
Meiran rolled her eyes and jotted down a quick reply.   
  
Wufei, I don't think that is what Miss Une meant when she said to hold your tongue. Remember last Friday, when you called S he was an effeminate weakling? I think Miss Une wanted you to keep those kind of comments to yourself. The flowers on his desk were from his children, after all, and besides   
  
The pen fell from her hands, rolling off the desk. Elastic ties snapped away from black tresses.   
  
Trieze smirked as he bent to collect the pen, twirling through nimble fingers as he straightened. Flipping the journal forward, he read Meiran's entry with a slight grin before starting a new line.   
  
July 9th, 2:46pm   
Forgiven, my darling.   
Tossing the pen across the desk, Trieze admired his flourished handwriting before flipping back in the journal. Reading through the latest entries, he frowned. "Duo has a new roommate?" he mused aloud, a slow, contemplative smile flitting across his face. "How charming." Trieze retrieved the pen.   
  
PS, what if I just call you a bitch and forgo the racial slur? Kisses! Trieze

* * *

Quatre threw himself on the bed, fresh tears coming forth as he buried his face into the pillow. Curling around the pillow, he sobbed miserably with a complete and utter loss. His first therapy had been an disaster. His doctor, G, possessed a stone and shielded heart against tears and fears. Years with juvenile cases similar to Duo, those who scorned the sensitive and reassuring methods employed by some psychiatrists, those who sought ways to rebel, these case had given the doctor a firm stance.   
  
Quatre had never had a chance.   
  
Frustrated with Quatre's timid behavior, G had taken Sandy, explaining that if he cooperated, the bear would be returned... tomorrow. Quatre felt his bear's loss like a physical ache -- as if someone had cut his arm off, or ripped out his heart.   
  
"I was informed of your refusal to take medication," G had said, Sandy on his desk. "Starting tonight, you will take your medicine after breakfast and dinner, without complaint.   
  
For a long eternity Quatre had sat there, holding back tears, until their hour of therapy had been over. Now, he let them out. Gradually, his sobs dwindled away. This was by no means the first time Sandy had been used to coerce cooperation from him, but that didn't diminish the agony he felt at the separation.   
  
"Knock-knock," came a voice from the doorway, and Quatre looked over to find Wufei standing there, casually leaning against the frame. "Mind if I come in?" he asked politely, running a hand back through long, loose black hair.   
  
Quatre shook his head and sat upright, hugging the pillow to his chest.   
  
Detaching himself from the doorway, Wufei crossed the small space and sat on the edge of the bed. He gave Quatre a quick once-over, and then nodded to himself. "Did you have a nasty session with G? Duo is forever complaining about him."   
  
Surprised Wufei was able to discern his problem so quickly, Quatre nodded. "Y- yes," he managed, voice quavering ever so slightly. "He took Sandy."   
  
Wufei looked confused for a moment before muttering, "Right, the bear. Oh, well," he said cheerfully, "brighten up. Not like it's the end of the world. Are you coming to dinner?" he asked, just before the chimes rang out for six o'clock.   
  
"Do I have a choice?" Quatre whispered into the pillow, imagining a person of stronger will, someone like Duo, would be doing something to get Sandy back. Instead, all Quatre could do was weep and go right along with whatever they asked him.   
  
He looked up to see Wufei had vanished. Had Wufei said something before leaving? Quatre stared in amazement at the now empty room, tears momentarily forgotten. A nurse passed by the doorway, giving Quatre a false smile, "Are you coming--" she paused to glance at the names beside the door "--Quatre? Hurry up, now! It's spaghetti night."

* * *

"Bastards!" Duo growled, stabbing a fork at the pale worms covering his plate. The sign said "spaghetti," but Duo severely doubted that. Only ten minutes were left in the designated dinner hour, which meant his plate contained cold scrapings of whatever food the cooks could find. Duo wolfed it down without caring about the texture or taste, more distracted by blinding rage towards the quacks. First Richards pulling him aside for yet another talk, and then G having the nerve to do the same.   
  
G! Of all the bastards here, he was among the worse. Not that Duo felt he couldn't handle the doctor, no, that wasn't the case at all. There wasn't a doctor out there who could control Duo. But G certainly tried, and tried with everyone, to assert himself in the doctor-patient relationship. Duo glared at his dinner plate, wishing desperately he had time to go and give G a piece of his mind.   
  
While in the doctor's office just a few minutes ago, Duo couldn't help but see a certain teddy bear. A trophy, of sorts, to G's vile nature.   
  
Shoving his tray aside, Duo leapt out of his seat only receive a glare from a passing nurse. Scowling darkly, he snatched up the tray and returned it before starting to leave. Just outside the cafeteria door, Wufei walked past him. No, not walked. Duo stopped walking and stared at the graceful stride, aristocratic lift of chin, and flowing black hair. No, not Wufei, either.   
  
Duo abruptly changed directions and raced after the boy. "Hey!" he called, snagging a sleeve.   
  
The boy turned, and the look on his face instantly confirmed Duo's fledgling suspicions. "Yes, Duo?"   
  
"Haven't seen you in a while, Trieze," Duo said neutrally, regarding the alternate personality with evident distrust.   
  
"Four days is hardly cause for concern."   
  
"When you're involved, it is," Duo countered back, receiving a wry smile from Trieze. "Have you seen them?"   
  
"How delightfully vague. Is incoherence another one of your charms I've overlooked up until now, or is this a newly found atribute? As for my answer, I probably have seen 'them,' but if so I don't remember. Of course, my answer could be more accurate if you so kindly told me who I'm looking for."   
  
"Stop being a pompous ass. Trowa, and Quatre."   
  
"No, and who?"   
  
"My roommate," Duo said carefully, watching Trieze with sudden trepidation. Had Trieze already come across Quatre?   
  
Trieze remained blank, "I didn't know you had a roommate. Does he wear a white bunny suit?"   
  
"Fuck you. He's new. Little guy, blond hair."   
  
"Haven't seen him."   
  
Duo tried once more, "Wufei or Meiran must have mentioned him. He's been here since yesterday."   
  
"I'm sure they have, but I doubt I was listening. I haven't read a thing since Wednesday. The world could have ended, for all I know. It hasn't, I assume," Trieze added, looking thoughtful.   
  
"If you see him," Duo warned, leaning close, "he's off limits."   
  
Trieze raised an eyebrow. "Really, now? Whatever happened to the charming Mr. Yuy? Tsk, tsk, Duo."   
  
Duo flushed a deep pink, "That's not what I meant. He's my friend, Trieze, and he doesn't need you messing with him."   
  
A thoughtful smile crossed Trieze's face before he turned away. "Whatever you say, Duo."

* * *

"...no need to thank me!"   
  
Aquamarine eyes snapped open, but with no discernible difference out of the darkness of sleep. Quatre lurched upright, utterly disoriented, and reached out a hand into the pitch black of the room. "What?" he whispered, unsure if the voice had been real.   
  
"I said, no need to thank me!"   
  
A relieved sigh escaped him as Quatre heard Duo's voice again, from somewhere on his left. He strained to see in the dark, but with no luck. "What time is it...?"   
  
"Just past bedtime, hence why the lights are off. You've been asleep for a while, though. What, did you just take a nap right after dinner?"   
  
"Yes," Quatre said slowly, the cloudy confusion of sleep only just starting to fade. "Where was everyone? Trowa and Wufei weren't at dinner, either, even though..." his voice trailed off as he thought again of Wufei's strange behavior earlier in the evening.   
  
"Tada!" Duo's voice was suddenly closer, as he thrust something soft into Quatre's face. "The least you could do is notice!"   
  
Quatre took the offered object, but sooner had his hands closed around it than he gave a soft gasp. "Sandy! But, how...?" he cradled the bear, fingertips lightly tracing around the cool glass eyes.   
  
"No need to thank me!" the braided boy declared for a third time, sounding rather pleased with himself. His bed squeaked in protest as Duo threw his weight on it, bouncing a few times before collapsing back against the pillows. "Just call me Duo Maxwell, bear rescuer!"   
  
"Duo... thank you, but..."   
  
"But what? It's not the wrong bear, is it? Shit, that'd be just like G to use a duplicate! Or maybe he steals bears from all over the ward, for his evil experiments with frogs and tapioca!"   
  
"No," Quatre hastened to say, ignoring the last part of Duo's ramble, "this is my Sandrock. But, Duo, won't Doctor G be upset that you stole him back? I wasn't supposed to get Sandy back until Doctor G said so."   
  
Silence followed this statement, punctuated only by the thudding of Quatre's nervous heart. "Not that I don't appreciate it, Duo! It's just I don't want you to get in trouble."   
  
A short bark of laughter greeted Quatre's concerns, "Like I care about getting in trouble! They'd think I'd gone off my rocker if I actually started behaving myself. Don't worry, G's a pussycat."   
  
Still, Quatre persisted, "What if he thinks I asked you? I'll get in trouble. You might not mind it, but I do..."   
  
"Grow a spine!" Duo snapped, in a surprisingly harsh tone. "Just tell him the fucking magical fairies returned it to you or something! He'll figure it was me anyway, so no big deal! Don't give them what they want, Quatre, it only encourages them."   
  
"Duo, it's their job to try and help us..."   
  
"No!" the older boy snapped, causing Quatre to flinch back instinctively. "This isn't some fancy-ass clinic. This is nothing more than a way to keep us off the streets and out of normal, happy, sane people's lives. We're cast-offs of society, the kids so fucked in the head no one wants to try and fix them. Half of the kids here don't have families who care, don't have any other place to go. They teach us and feed us, and whatever else the state says they have to do. But that's it, Quatre. They don't love us, and they certainly don't give a shit whether we're happy. They barely care if we live or die.   
  
You got your damn bear back, what more do you want? Should I return it to G with a note saying how sorry I am to mess up his grand plan to cure you. Do you want me to do that, Quatre? Do you?"   
  
"No," Quatre answered in a very quiet voice. He lay back down, curling around Sandy stiffly. "Thank you, Duo." He stared wide-eyed into the darkness, fingers digging into the soft fur of the bear's stomach. "Good night, Duo," he said in a hollow tone.   
  
-  
  
-

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry for the format changes on FFN. I'm very, very upset with FFN right now. I do NOT like having to now format all my files into html just to maintain the appearance that, before, was not lost during the transfer. Right now, I'm a very angry author, and FFN has stolen all the joy I felt finishing this chapter. Forgive my annoyed rant. I was also almost killed by a falling picture frame.   
  
I hope I didn't lose all my readers with that very, very long break between chapters. I'm very sorry. It's hard for me to write, but I'm trying my best. I apologize for the poor quality of this chapter. It written over a four month span... ick. Hopefully the next update will be much quicker, but I sadly cannot assure anything. I refuse to abandon this story, so there WILL be a chapter ten, I promise you. I really hope to receive any kind of comment at all from my loyal readers. It's so encouraging.   
  
I'm very very sorry for the delay between updates. Please continue to read and support me, because it means so very, very much. I can never convey how grateful I am to have people actually enjoy my work.   
Heero will be in the 'fic eventually. I am too much of a 1x2 fangirl for him not to be. I know you're probably getting tired of hearing me say that, but it's true. You just have to wait a bit longer. I promise I'll make it up to you.   
  
I guess that's everything. Sorry for how much I ramble.   
Please review and make a sad author smile. It'll help me get the next chapter out before Halloween. I hope.   
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2004 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.  
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)  



	10. Disaster

LSE 9-13-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ten: Disaster)   
rated: R - language, content, violence   
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Disaster   
  
-   
Grey rooftop stretched out before unblinking eyes, the gentle kiss of the sun hot across his neck. A warm breeze ruffled hair stiff with drying blood, as aquamarine hues pooled crystal tears. Falling...   
  
"Ah!" Quatre gasped awake, heart thudding in his chest as he registered someone staring down at him.   
  
"Awake?" his roommate asked, that long chestnut braid of his trailing down over his shoulder and across Quatre's chest.   
  
Quatre nodded, terrified, remembering the words which had chased him down into slumber. Instead of looking angry, however, Duo wore a wide jester's grin below bright amethyst eyes, darkly circled due to lack of sleep. "Good morning?" Quatre tried weakly, wondering how long Duo had been sitting there.   
  
"Good morning!" Duo returned brightly. "I was hoping you'd wake up sooner, but I didn't have the heart to make you. You're cute when you sleep," he said, shamelessly tweaking Quatre's cheek with his fingers. "Listen," Duo continued, suddenly serious, "about last night..."   
  
"No!" Quatre hastened to object, sitting upright. "It's all my fault, I should have been more grateful. I'm very sorry."   
  
"Stop it," the older boy commanded, pressing a finger against Quatre's nose. "I was a bastard. You should have thrown that teddy bear at my head in hope of knocking sense into me. I'm not always my best at night, all that creative flow tends to leave me whacked for emotions. The joy of being bipolar! Twice the emotions in half the time!" Duo grinned in a way that made Quatre uneasy, despite the cheer of the words.   
  
"It's really all right," Quatre insisted, digging Sandrock out from the covers.   
  
Duo frowned, concerned. "You can't just let people walk all over you, even me. Seriously, Quatre, next time I'm being a jerk just hit me, or go get Wufei or Tro and let them smack sense into me. Okay?"   
  
When the young blond hesitated, Duo pressed a finger against Quatre's nose. "Beep! Time's up! The correct answer was, 'Yes, Duo, if you're ever a meanie to me I'll kick you in the nuts!' ...Actually, don't, that would really hurt. I'm pretty thick-headed, so, stick to a smack upside the head."   
  
"Okay, Duo," Quatre laughed softly.   
  
"Today's breakfast is biscuits and gravy, one of my favorites! Gravy makes an awesome projectile, especially when coated over a rock-hard biscuit!" Duo blabbed, bouncing over to his part of the room. "I wonder what would happen if I smacked 'Lena in the face with one..."   
  
"Who is..." Quatre started to ask, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Without waiting for an actual response, a nurse and two orderlies opened the door; the nurse walked in while the two men hovered in the doorway. Quatre glanced to Duo who, for some reason, looked truly worried, face pale as milk.   
  
"Duo, please come with me," the nurse said without preamble, gesturing with one hand. Quatre stared in amazement between the nurse and his roommate as the braided boy went forward without complaint. The nurse gently took his arm and led him from the room, the orderlies following into step.   
  
Quatre tentatively followed, halting at the doorway and peering out as they went down the hall towards the nurse's station. There were few patients in the halls, and a quick glance to one of the clocks showed it was half-way through the breakfast hour. After watching Duo be led out of view, Quatre ducked back into the room and quickly changed clothes, leaving his pajamas on the floor in his haste.   
  
Finger-combing golden strands down into a somewhat respectable look, Quatre hurried towards the cafeteria, pausing as he passed the nurse's station. Of his roommate, however, there was no sign. Quatre entered the food line and impatiently grabbed his breakfast which, as Duo had suggested, would make for a nice ranged attack.   
  
"Good morning," said Wufei (at least, Quatre was fairly certain that was the personality inhabiting the Chinese youth) as Quatre sat down.   
  
Trowa merely glanced up from his tray, but otherwise made no other gesture of welcome.   
  
"They took Duo," Quatre blurted out as soon as he was seated.   
  
Wufei raises one finely arched brow, "The aliens?"   
  
Through his bangs, Trowa shot Wufei a heated glare that caused the Chinese boy to redden with chagrin.   
  
"Duo looked really worried," Quatre insisted, not appreciating the jest when the matter seemed so serious.   
  
"He probably pissed off Doctor Richards again. I hate it when Maxwell gets like this. I hate to admit it, but I really do hope that psychotic fool Maxwell's so entranced with shows up soon. Maybe that will calm him down."   
  
"What do you mean?" Quatre asked. "Is Duo not usually a troublemaker?"   
  
"If Maxwell let the doctors help him he would be much better off. His condition is treatable with medication, and there is a good chance he could be released if he just behaved himself. Alas, Maxwell seems content to do everything in his power to prolong his stay."   
  
Quatre started to comment, but was distracted by the look on Trowa's face as he stared at Wufei. Emerald eyes glistened with unspoken anger, mingled with desperate sorrow, and Quatre suddenly got the impression that Trowa, if he could talk, would be correcting Wufei's analysis.   
  
"It isn't his fault," Quatre interjected softly, surprising himself. "Since Duo's here that means he needs help. He's sick. ...Right?"   
  
Trowa gave the smallest of nods, but Wufei merely snorted slightly, looking away. The fact that Wufei and Trowa, who were Duo's close friends, didn't seem concerned about the morning's events reassured Quatre, but he still kept a careful eye out for the older boy.

* * *

He doesn't look angry... Quatre though as he, Trowa and Meiran filed into group therapy that afternoon. Doctor Richards stood behind his chair, hands gripping the metal back as he talked with Dorothy. Relena was already seated, eyeing the doctor's crooked tie with a strained gleam in her eyes. Richards glanced over as they entered and seemed grateful to send Dorothy to her seat.   
  
"Where's Duo?" the doctor asked, eyes sweeping over the three of them.   
  
Meiran twirled a lock of inky hair around her finger. "Don't you know? Did you forget to let him out of the quiet room again?"   
  
Quatre stared at her in surprise, and then cast an incredulous look to the doctor, hoping he would deny the 'again' part of her question. Instead, Richards merely looked perplexed, "No one told me Duo would be absent from today's group. He better not be skipping."   
  
Head ducked down against Sandy, Quatre frantically wished for the doctor to focus on anything other than him. I don't know where Duo is! he thought frantically, hoping the doctor wouldn't ask him.   
  
This seemed to work, as Richards glanced at his watch with a sigh. "We'll just have to start without him. I thought for sure today's activity would interest Duo especially," he explained with a warm smile. "Everyone, please stand and line up," the doctor commanded, coming around the circle of chairs to the door.   
  
"If he's making us go hug trees, I swear I'll scream," Meiran muttered as they shuffled into a messy sort of line. Trowa stood hunched, hands in his pockets, and Quatre hovered behind the silent youth, trying to use him as a shield. The two girls stood at the head of the line, Relena still staring at Richards's tie.   
  
"Okay, everyone, stay together and follow me," Richards beckoned them forward, out of the group room and out of the therapy wing. Quatre kept his head down, watching the back of Trowa's feet to keep his way, and didn't notice when Dorothy fell back to walk belong beside him.   
  
"Did he make a run for it again?" she asked after a moment, causing Quatre to glance up in surprise.   
  
He merely stared at her, tongue-tied, before inching closer to Trowa and shaking his head, golden strands dancing just outside his range of vision. Dorothy frowned, closing in on the pursuit, "You'd tell me if he did, wouldn't you?"   
  
Trowa slowed his step enough to fall back between the two, the action causing the girl to side-step out of the way. The one visible emerald eye gave Dorothy a look more eloquent than words could ever hope to be and, suitably rebuked, she went back to walking along side Relena. Grateful, Quatre gave the taller boy a shy smile, but Trowa wasn't looking at him.   
  
"Here we are," Doctor Richards announced, pushing open a door to what looked like an art studio. Easels were arranged about the room, which was well-lit by a row of windows along the far wall. "I thought we'd try something expressive and creative. Everyone, pick a spot and we can get started."   
  
The five of them shuffled around in mute obedience as Richards went over to the supply cabinets. Quatre picked a spot near the middle where he could easily look out the window, and found himself right beside Dorothy. Near the window Quatre could see out of, Trowa stood in front of his easel, back to the wall. Their eyes met over the easels, and Quatre once again offered a timid smile.   
  
Trowa broke the gaze, staring down at his canvas with a blank look.   
  
"Everyone found a place? Yes?" Richards queried, standing at a small table and depositing a variety of paints and brushes. "Using whatever medium you feel appropriate, I would like everyone to paint a self-portrait. Don't paint yourself as how others see you, however, but as how you see yourself. Your picture should be very different from what you see in the mirror. Express emotions over appearance, and please feel free to get creative! We'll be working on these all week, so take your time."   
  
No one moved.   
  
"Come get your supplies and set to work," Richards implored, and Dorothy immediately started up towards the front. Quatre and the others followed her, until they were all clustered around the table rooting through the supplies.   
  
"I should do mine in blood," Dorothy muttered, earning a nervous laugh from Relena.   
  
Meiran stood back from the table, dark eyes narrowed on Doctor Richards with a startling intensity. Sensing her gaze, the doctor turned and raised one brow. "Yes, Wufei?"   
  
"Meiran," she corrected in a mumble, turning away as if distracted by something. She grabbed up a box of charcoal and headed back to her canvas, shooting dark looks at the doctor as she went.   
  
Still staring at the paints, Quatre suddenly realized he and Relena were the only ones not back at their easels. Blushing, Quatre snagged a case of watercolors and a few brushes before going over to the sink for a cup of water. The skin prickled along the back of his neck as the Doctor's gaze followed him across the room.   
  
Faced with an expanse of open canvas, Quatre found his mind equally blank. He knew well what he looked like in a mirror, but Doctor Richards specifically said not to duplicate that sort of image. What did he feel he looked like, from a creative standpoint?   
  
Quatre tucked Sandrock under his arm and busied himself arranging his supplies, in order to at least look like he was working. He glanced over to see Dorothy carefully tracing a design on her picture with a pencil, but an open set of oil pastels on her easel. Hastily, Quatre set his brush down. What if he messed up? Better to first outline and then paint.   
  
"Relena, please pick a medium to work with," Doctor Richards said, going over to where the girl still stood, by the supplies.   
  
"They're all so imprecise," Relena replied in a pained voice, "and very messy."   
  
Richards smiled, "Creativity is rarely a neat and proper thing, Relena. In order to fully express yourself, perhaps you need to get your hands dirty."   
  
Relena looked absolutely scandalized.   
  
"Try the crayons," Richards said with a sigh.   
  
Gingerly, Relena picked up the box and returned to her easel, carefully setting the box on her easel. She looked very reluctant to start her project, however, and kept shooting the doctor surreptitious glances. Richards began to walk around behind them, observing in a sly manner that made Quatre nervous.   
  
He still didn't have much started, just a few eraser marks and smudges. Maybe he could paint Sandrock for his picture. That certainly described him, in a way. No, that was a stupid idea. Quatre chewed thoughtfully on the tip of his pencil, glancing up at the window just in time to catch Trowa staring at him.   
  
The emerald eye not hidden away by the thick brush of bangs refused to look away, even when Quatre flushed a soft pink from the intensity of that gaze. A shiver ran down his spine as his heart thudded hard in his throat; he longed to call out to Trowa, but...   
  
The older boy's gaze fell away, sliding over to stare beyond the young blond and away, towards the door. Aquamarines followed just in time to see a flutter of chestnut braid at the edge of vision; Quatre turned more to watch Duo's silent prowl through the room. The boy's head was lowered, a fringe of cinnamon obscuring his face, which was unnaturally solemn. He stopped at the empty easel on Quatre's right just as Doctor Richards finally took sight of him.   
  
"All right, Duo, where have you been?" Richards demanded, abandoning his quite conversation with Meiran to walk over.   
  
Duo lifted his head, eyes rimmed in red and glaring at the doctor. However, the boy held his silence, lowering his attention back down to the canvas. He raised a hand and pressed it to the white expanse, fingers spread out in a fan before his hand slid down to the easel's base.   
  
Doctor Richards swooped down on him, "Did you bring a note? If you had any points, I'd dock them from you for being late. You will receive no credit for this session, and I'll be talking to Doctor G about your behavior recently. Furthermore--"   
  
"Fuck off."   
  
Richards fell silent, agape at Duo as if doubting his own hearing. "I'm sorry?" he said in a tone that suggested Duo better apologize.   
  
"I said," Duo snarled, lifting his head again to affix the doctor with a heated, sullen glare. "Fuck. Off."   
  
-   
  
-   
  
Author's Notes: I think I worked out all the format problems. If the separators disappear again, don't worry I'll try and fix it.   
Uh, cliffhanger! Very sorry, but it just wouldn't fit otherwise. Although it shouldn't take me too terribly long to get the next chapter written. I got screwed at work with only two shifts this week, so I'll have free time. Oh, well. I'm kinda proud I got this chapter out so quickly. Heh. I hope can I get the next one out within a week.   
Thank you everyone for your kind words, especially everyone who said they understood it was taking me time to get the chapters out. It made me work extra hard not to let you guys down! Just briefly:   
1) Kimiki -- I've never been to the Orange Bowl since it's in Florida. I hope you don't have Oklahoma State confused with Oklahoma University. OU plays at the Orange Bowl most years, we don't.   
2) I forgot to explain a joke in the last chapter. When Trieze says " 'I didn't know you had a roommate. Does he wear a white bunny suit?' " it was a reference to the play Harvey, about a man whose imaginary friend is a big white bunny. Yeah. I thought it was funny.   
See ya next chapter! Remember, reviews make me happy and help the chapters get out much quicker!   
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!   
copyright 2004 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)   
shameless plug - visit my website 


	11. Sanctuary

  
LSE 9-17-04   
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eleven: Sanctuary)   
rated: R - language, content, violence   
shounen-ai/yaoi   
  
Sanctuary   
  
-   
  
Duo lifted his head high and stared, bright eyes burning with an intense heat.   
  
The doctor tried a different approach, "Where have you been? If you have a legitimate excuse, perhaps I can overlook your being late. Your language, however, is an entirely different problem."   
  
Duo said nothing, chest heaving with ire as he glared at Richards. Quatre caught the way his roommate's hands trembled before Duo formed them into fists, and Quatre looked around wildly for an idea of what to do. Everyone else stopped their work, eyes intent on the doomed exchange occurring between doctor and patient.   
  
Richards frowned, "No comment? No witty remark to share with us? I won't ask again, Duo. Where have you been?"   
  
"Fuck you," Duo whispered harshly, voice now shaking as bad as his hands. A single tear spilled out over the corner of his eye, tracing a damp path down the boy's cheek. "I don't have to put up with this."   
  
"I'm afraid you do," Richards replied, crossing his arms over his chest. However, the young doctor looked very unsure of himself as he stood there. He adopted a gentler tone, "Duo, is everything all right? Do you want to go back to the room and talk?"   
  
Instead of being comforted, Duo became infuriated and yelled, "No! Fuck you! I'm leaving!"   
  
True to his words, Duo whirled around and started for the door, braid bouncing against his back. Quatre held his breath, watching the doctor, before backing hastily out of Richards' way. The doctor hurried around and caught Duo, snagging the boy by the elbow. "You are not allowed to just wander around the hall," Richards started gently, but was interrupted by Duo yanking his arm away.   
  
"I'll do whatever the hell I want!" Duo shot back. "Don't fuck with me today, Dickie. Not today."   
  
Richards looked unsure of himself, one hand rested against the compact radio on his hip. "All right, Duo," the doctor agreed. "But I can't just let you leave. We're starting an art project today, you like art, don't you? If you want, you don't have to work on the project today. Have a seat and work on whatever you like."   
  
Duo just glared at him and started to leave again, but Richards sprung forward and gripped the boy by the wrist. "I'm not going to let you leave, Duo," Richards said firmly.   
  
"Let go!" Duo shrieked, striking out with his free hand, but Richards caught him easily. Everyone but Quatre stared at the starting fight, the girls letting out small gasps; however, Quatre's eyes were locked down at the floor. Sandy had slipped free of his grip.   
  
"He's hurt!"   
  
Quatre knelt. Duo's voice. Was he hurt? Sandrock's eye pressed to his cheek, the smooth glass faintly cold. Who was hurt? Better not to look. No violence here.   
  
"Calm down, Duo."   
  
Safe.   
  
"Fuck you! You don't know it's like -- I can't go to him, I can't even talk to him because I don't have any fucking points!"   
  
Broken.   
  
"Who, Duo? Slow down."   
  
The boy's voice rose in a wail, "Heero!"   
  
Hands.   
  
Quatre snapped his eyes open with a gasp, jerking his head out of the hesitant touch. Wild aquamarines met startled emerald as Trowa backed away slightly, kneeling there beside him on the floor. Quatre looked beyond Trowa, to where Duo and Richards were locked in a cruel parody of embrace. The doctor restrained Duo's wrists even though it looked like the fight had gone out of the boy; his head was bowed against the doctor's chest as his frail shoulders shook.   
  
"Very well, Duo," Richards said in a quiet voice. "You may leave." Richards looked up, and everyone followed his gaze to the two orderlies waiting in the doorway. At this signal, they came forward, followed by a nurse gingerly carrying a small syringe.   
  
"I'll see you tomorrow, Duo. Don't be late," Richards said in same soft tone.   
  
Quatre whimpered and closed his eyes again, not wanting to see.   
  
Must.   
  
Not.   
  
Look.

* * *

_Come help me._   
  
_Can't you see he's hurting?_   
  
Dark eyes swept by him once. The second time, they connected.   
  
Richards stood at the door, talking softly to the nurse as the two orderlies carried Duo out. Meiran slipped away from her easel and met him on the floor. "What happened, Trowa?"   
  
_I don't know. Hurry, before Richards comes back._   
  
Between the two of them, they carefully got Quatre on his feet. The small blond was unresponsive, as easy to maneuver as a marionette. Quatre stared down at the floor, and no amount of quiet coaxing from Meiran could get him to look up, or even respond at all.   
  
Richards turned back to the group. Meiran edged forward, trying to hide Quatre as much as possible with her lithe frame. Trowa kept an arm around the frail boy's waist to prevent him from collapsing and also to offer some sense of quiet comfort. The doctor skimmed over his remaining patients and sighed. "That's all for today," he said quietly. "Put your things away. You may leave your pictures on the easels for tomorrow. Meet me here instead our normal room, but don't wander the halls."   
  
"I'll take care of it, just don't let Richards notice Quatre," Meiran whispered to Trowa before swiftly starting to clean the area up.   
  
Trowa carefully moved around so that the easel blocked them from Richards. _Are you all right?_ The words were right there, stuck in his throat. He just couldn't get them to come out. He didn't want to.   
  
_Are you scared?_   
  
_Everything's okay now._   
  
_I'm right here._   
  
"What's up?" Dorothy asked quietly, hands in the pockets of her jeans as she stood there, further blocking the doctor's view of Quatre.   
  
Trowa stared at her and lifted one shoulder in mute reply.   
  
"He all right?"   
  
Another slight shrug.   
  
Dorothy tilted her head to the side, then silently turned on a heel and marched to the front of the room. She stopped right in front of Richards and started talking to him, distracting the doctor from putting up the last of the supplies.   
  
_Thank you._   
  
"Okay, got it. Let's go," Meiran said, popping back up beside them. Quatre shuffled after Trowa, blindly following the taller boy's gentle pull across the room. Meiran began to chatter aimlessly as they went, and Trowa half-wished she would shut up, but he also knew her rambles would make them look more normal.   
  
"Oh, before you go..."   
  
Meiran stopped talking and half-turned to Richards. Trowa kept walking, one hand over Quatre's wrist, and hoped it really was Meiran the doctor wanted to hold back.   
  
It was.   
  
"Wufei, please give this note to Doctor S when you see him next."   
  
"Meiran," she corrected without any real emotion, taking the slim envelope from Richards. The Chinese youth caught up with her friends in the hall, "Now what?"   
  
_I don't know._   
  
"Maybe we should tell someone. What if something's really wrong...?"   
  
_He'll be okay. He has to be. _   
  
Trowa shook his head at her and gestured with his free hand to the end of the hall.   
  
"His room? All right. Duo has session next, doesn't he? I doubt that stuff they gave him will wear off before then. They probably stuck him in the quiet room. Poor Duo," she added, almost as an after thought. "He's getting ready to crash, isn't he?"   
  
_Please stop talking._   
  
Trowa glanced back to where Quatre trailed after him, still led by a hand, and hurried his pace a little. The boy hunched around his teddy bear, soft strands of flaxen hair veiling his face, which was terribly blank. Those large, aquamarine eyes of Quatre's that normally overflowed with emotion and expression were now staring unseeing at the floor, utterly void of any awareness.   
  
_He's shut down entirely into himself. _   
  
_Defense mechanism?_   
  
They had barely crossed the threshold into Duo and Quatre's room when the small blond let out a sudden cry and jerked his hand out from Trowa's grip. Quatre's head lifted, but no recognition was in his eyes as he looked frantically from Meiran to Trowa and back.   
  
Trowa shot an urgent look to Meiran, who stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Trowa didn't care about how her jaw dropped slightly as she read his face and eyes. He didn't care what she thought she knew, or if she really knew. It didn't matter.   
  
"Trowa..." she said with a sigh, shaking her head.   
  
The door clicked shut.

* * *

"Quatre!"   
  
"It's me."   
  
_NO! I don't want to see! I must not look! I -- !_   
  
"Quatre... Please, Quatre, it's me. Trowa."   
  
"Trowa?"   
  
_I can't look. No..._   
  
Quatre snapped out his daze with a panicked gasp, instinctively pushing away. "NO!" he shrieked, but gentle hands closed over his wrists.   
  
"Quatre, stop."   
  
"Trowa?" Quatre relaxed, but the older boy still held his hands. They were knelt on the floor still, but it took Quatre a few moments to realize it was his room. "What...?" he stared at Trowa, who returned his gaze with an intense concern.   
  
"Are you all right?"   
  
Quatre nodded hesitantly. "What happened to Duo...? he asked fearfully, gazing up at Trowa with widened eyes.   
  
"They put him in the quiet room," Trowa explained. "He'll be fine."   
  
Again, Quatre nodded, clutching Sandrock tight against his chest. He refused to ask what had happened after he... blanked out, and Trowa seemed content to take Quatre at his word he was all right. Quatre found the solemn boy's silence reassuring, and leaned back against his bed with a slight sigh.   
  
"I don't like it here," Quatre confessed in a small voice, knees curled tight to his chest. "Ever since I got here it's just been one long nightmare. I feel like I'm going to wake up at any moment, safe in my own bed. And mother."   
  
He stopped, abruptly, darting a glance to Trowa, but the older boy either didn't catch the halted words, or refused to comment. After a moment, Trowa settled against the bed as well, long legs stretching out towards the wall and back straight against the mattress. "That feeling never really goes away," Trowa said softly.   
  
Quatre felt a pang of sorrow for the quiet teen. "Trowa," he said urgently, causing the boy to turn stoic green eyes on him. Quatre felt himself blush, "I'm glad you're here."   
  
Even though half his face was hidden by a sweep of bang, Quatre could still plainly see shock register on Trowa's usually neutral face. The boy flushed faintly and turned his head away.   
  
Several minutes passed, during which Quatre fell into a quiet reverie, simply enjoying his older friend's gentle company. The companionable feeling broke when Trowa rose to his feet, careful not to jostle Quatre, who had slumped over sideways against Trowa.   
  
He paused awkwardly in the doorway, looking back to where Quatre still sat against the bed. Trowa started to say something, and the younger boy waited with an open, expectant look on his face.   
  
"Ditto," he said simply, before leaving.   
  
-   
  
-   
  
Author's Notes: Hooray! Sorry for that cliffhanger last week. I'll try to get the next chapter out quickly, too. Thank you all for your kind words and cheers. I'll try not to keep you waiting. Thank you for understanding that I am quite busy! Also, please continue to have patience about Heero () I know we love him, but I already have a specific time planned for him to show up in the story.   
  
Kimiki, ohhh! Orange Peel! I went the year they had David Spade and then again for Vanessa Carlton. Are you an OSU student or live nearby? Sorry if that's too personal but your comments make me very curious. I seem to say this every chapter, but I promise Heero will be in the story, it's just going to take a while.   
Late (is that your name?) I loved your long post feel free to ramble, I do it, too! I identify most strongly with Duo of all the G-boys, I always have... that's why he's bipolar in this story. I hope your cold went away! I hope to hear from you again   
  
Okay, everyone, see you next chapter!   
  
Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!   
copyright 2004 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.   
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)   
Can anyone host my website for me? 


	12. Duo's Curse

LSE 12-2-04  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Twelve: Duo's Curse)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

**Duo's Curse**

**-**

Delicate fingers flicked aside stray dark strands as Trieze waited patiently for his companion to make a move. Trowa glanced up at him before carefully moving one of his pawns across the chess board. "Interesting," Trieze purred, leaning forward. Locks of ink black hair fell forward from his shoulder as he shifted, causing Trieze to frown. "I ought to get it cut," he mused, gathering back the shoulder-length hair before snapping it into a loose ponytail.

Trowa lifted his head suddenly, sitting upright with an alert edge.

Dark brows lifted as Trieze followed the boy's gaze. "That was fast," Trieze said when Quatre drew close. "Or else we've been here playing a lot longer than I thought."

Quatre shook his head slowly and sunk into one of the chairs. "Doctor G said I wouldn't have a session today."

"Lucky!" Trieze cried, sitting back in his chair. He shifted, draping a leg over the arm of the chair, clearly dismissing the chess game. "Why?"

"Duo was in there," Quatre explained. "He..." the boy paused. How to describe the melancholy Duo in G's office? Quatre had never seen his normally cheerful roommate look so depressed.

Then again, Quatre realized, I haven't known Duo very long at all.

"Ah," Trieze mused, tapping his lip with one finger. "Well, how fortunate for you. Shame we don't have the same doctor. Hey, Trowa, next time you try to off yourself, could you do it here? Maybe S'll keep you in session all the time, and then I won't have to go."

Trowa's eyes narrowed dangerously at the bemused Chinese boy.

"D-don't joke about that!" Quatre cried, alarmed.

The other two boys turned to him with completely different looks, but Quatre looked only at Trowa's sorrowful green eyes. "You... shouldn't joke about it," Quatre whispered, hugging his knees slightly.

Trieze shrugged, "Whatever. Here," he said suddenly, dropping his leg from the chair arm as he turned toward the chessboard. Nimble fingers slid a rook three spaces sideways. "Check."

Face emotionless, Trowa moved his queen diagonally across the board, claiming the daring rook. Looking up to meet Trieze's astonished gaze, he flicked his hand up, the finger and middle-finger crossed.

"Mate," said Trieze, translating the sign for Quatre's benefit. Tossing back his hair, he turned onyx eyes to the little blond. "You want to play?"

"I... I'm better at checkers."

Silently, Trowa held up the box full of red and black playing pieces.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Wufei joined them for dinner, but not Duo. It wasn't until Quatre went back to his room after supper that he encountered his roommate. Stretched out on his bed like a black shadow, Duo barely flicked a glance to the door as Quatre entered. The small blond hesitated in the doorway, very tempted to just turn around and run, but strode forward with a determined set to his thin shoulders.

Sitting cross-legged on his own bed, Quatre hugged Sandy close and watched Duo carefully through lowered eyes. The two roommates sat in utter silence for a long time, until Duo rolled his head lazily to the side, violet eyes staring across the room at the younger boy.

"..braaains," Duo drawled in a slurred voice. "Braaains!"

Quatre's eyes flew wide as he shrunk back, terrified. The other boy broke into laughter as he sat upright, one hand raking back chestnut fringe from his face. Timidly, Quatre smiled slightly and gave a nervous titter.

"I'm sorry," Duo said around his laughs, wiping tears from his eyes. "It just seemed too perfect an opportunity to waste."

A small, genuine smile crossed his face as Quatre felt a rush of relief that Duo seemed to be feeling better. "What..." Quatre started to ask, but then he hesitated, unsure if it was right to pry.

"What the fuck was I doing earlier?" Duo asked with a startling sincerity in his tone, and the wild grin no longer reached his eyes. Quatre nodded mutely, hugging his bear. "I guess I do owe you some sort of explanation."

Both boys looked up as they were interrupted by a knock on their door. "Come in!" Duo called, and Wufei pushed the door open. Dark eyes registered a mild surprise at seeing the braided boy, and they flashed over to Quatre with a quick concern.

"Yay! Story time!" Duo chimed with a roll of his eyes.

Dark brows lifted, "What are you raving about, Maxwell?"

"Duo was just about to say..." Quatre hastily quieted, unsure if his roommate wanted the Chinese boy to know as well.

"What happened to Yuy?" Wufei finished for the blond, dark eyes critical as they regarded Duo.

With an easy shrug, Duo dangled his legs off the edge of the bed. "Yeah, you wanna hear it, 'Fei?"

Almond-shaped eyes narrowed dangerously, "That's Wufei."

"What happened to Heero?" Quatre broke in nervously, biting his lip at the banter between the two friends. Were they only joking? He couldn't tell.

"He's a mechanic," Duo explained, eyes fairly shining with pride. "Heero is a genius with machines. When we met, he was always taking apart things just to see how they worked. Anyway, he was at work today and..." Duo hesitated, eyes falling to his lap as his fingers interlaced. He ran a thumb over the silver rings and swallowed. "So yesterday, at work, he was under a car working when the lift malfunctioned. The car dropped just enough to knock Heero down, but... I mean, it didn't... fall on him." Duo looked sick at the idea.

"Is he all right?" Quatre asked with heavy concern.

Duo nodded slowly, "They kept him overnight for observation... a concussion was the worst of it." Amethysts glittered with fury, "His roommate tried calling me this morning to tell me, but I don't fucking have enough points for a phone call. The merciful nurses took a message, though. I..." Duo looked down at his hands and spoke quietly, emotion straining the words. "I just want to talk to him."

Quatre remained quiet, his heart going out to his roommate. Wufei's sulking glare had disappeared, replaced by a soft look of concern that seemed foreign across dignified features. "You'll see him on Saturday," Wufei said firmly before walking out.

After a brief hesitation, Quatre jumped to his feet and hurried after the Chinese youth. "Wait, Wufei!" he called, closing the distance between them.

Wufei turned, arms crossed. "Yes?"

Aquamarines searched Wufei's face, the intensity of it making the taller boy step back slightly. "You don't really believe that. You don't think Heero will visit him."

With a sigh, Wufei shook his head slowly, his dark gathering of hair swaying over his neck. "I've been here for a year now. Fifty-two weekends, and every single time Maxwell says Yuy is coming to visit him. The way Maxwell talks of him, you'd think they were three steps away from the alter. For a while I thought perhaps Yuy was nothing more than a hallucination Maxwell had created, until I met him."

Wufei sighed again, dark eyes troubled. "Four times, in one year. That's how many times Yuy has actually visited, if you could call it that. The last time was three months ago, after Maxwell ran away. It was Yuy who dragged him back here, kicking and screaming the whole way. It's chilling to see them together. It... It isn't healthy, this love that Maxwell feels. Yuy barely looks at him."

"But... if Heero didn't feel anything for Duo, then why..."

"I don't think I will ever understand it," Wufei said quietly. "But I doubt that Yuy could feel anything at all. He... isn't human."

Quatre looked down at the floor and whispered, "Maybe you're wrong."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the small blond flinched, eyes peeking out from a fringe of gold hair as he trembled, waiting for a blow that never came.

Dark eyes wide, Wufei stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "For Maxwell's sake, I would like nothing better."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The week crawled toward the end, Quatre falling into the numbing repetition of the hospital's schedule. He almost didn't mind his therapy, with group being devoted to their paintings. He dreaded his sessions with G, but it was only an hour of his day. Most of his free time was spent with one of his new friends... In the fact he had friends came as a shock most days.

Hospital life moved at a lazy pace, but Duo and the others assured him it was only because it was summer. "Most people show up in August, when they start up the schooling programs. Even crazies need a little education!" Duo explained brightly, waving cheerfully to one of the nurses, who looked around in something like alarm.

Quatre woke during the night on Friday without knowing why, until the soft sound of weeping registered to his sleepy self. He sat upright, eyes searching blindly in the dark of the room.

"Go back to bed," came Duo's voice from his side of the room.

"I heard..." Quatre started to say, confused.

Duo said nothing, the rustle of papers being his only answer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning at breakfast, Duo stayed eerily silent, their entire group keeping the uneasy quiet until the braided boy got up and left. Meiran leaned forward, tapping Quatre's plate with her fork to catch the boy's attention. "What's on your mind?" she asked, dark eyes curious.

Quatre hesitated, dropping his eyes to his half-empty plate.

"Quatre?" she persisted.

Interlacing his fingers nervously in his lap, Quatre was highly aware of both Meiran and Trowa's eyes on him. "What's going to happen to Duo when Heero doesn't show up today?"

Meiran sat back, clearly troubled. She exchanged concerned glances with Trowa before sighing. "Duo's gone off his medication again. He does this ... frequently, actually. After he ran away three months ago they tested, to make sure he was taking it, but as soon as they stopped a few weeks ago, Duo did as well."

The Chinese youth leaned forward, the change occurring in one startling instance as Meiran left and Wufei took control. "Yuy isn't coming, and some part of Maxwell realizes that. It won't keep him from waiting, though. Tomorrow isn't going to be pretty."

A bundle of nerves took up residence in Quatre's chest as he scooted back slightly, alarmed by Wufei's serious demeanor. "Is there anything we can do?" Quatre asked, looking between his two friends.

Trowa shook his head sadly and twitched his nimble fingers into a sign, and one that Quatre almost recognized.

Wufei nodded and verbally translated the sign with a sigh, "Love." Quatre recognized it as the same sign Trowa had used earlier in the week during the chess game, the first two fingers lightly crossed. Wufei nodded his agreement and slid on the wire-rimmed glasses that he wore, but Meiran did not. "Gods save him, he loves the boy."

-

-

Author's Notes: Sorry this took forever. I really don't have much to say as I'm not feeling very well at the moment. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, but I hope soon! Thank you for all your encouragements, it means the world to me.  
I love the improvements to it use to take me nearly an hour just to format a chapter! Now my plain text files are good to go when I upload them.  
See you next time, everyone.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2004 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.  
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)  
I still have no home for my website!


	13. Shadows

LSE 12-5-04  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirteen: Shadows)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Shadows

-

_I'm waiting._

_I have my gifts ready. I showered and scrubbed, my face feels fresh, my hair smells faintly of shampoo still. I'm wearing my best shirt. My best pants. My best smile._

_A nurse passes._

_Everything is quiet. The morning is still._

_I can feel them watching from across the room. The television is too quiet to hear. Only Gloria is watching it, so it does not matter._

_They're watching. They don't think he will come._

_Another nurse passes._

_Papers rustle as I rearrange the small stack of drawings and poems. I ended up with only five haiku. All of them are illustrated. When was the last time I slept?_

_I don't know._

_When was the last time I saw his face?_

_Two orderlies walk by. One of them smiles at me._

_Time passes quietly. I watch the hands on the clock._

_Wufei gets up and walks off. When he returns, nothing has changed._

_They can sit there. They can leave._

_I don't care._

_I will wait for him._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How long do you think he'll sit there?" Quatre asked in a hushed whisper, curled up comfortably in one of the armchairs. Their nook of the common area was unoccupied except for a silent, solemn girl who stared dully up at the television. Across the way, they could see Duo sitting with an unsettling calm in plain view of the entrance.

Wufei shrugged and set down a card, "All day, knowing Maxwell." A jack claimed Wufei's nine, and the Chinese boy scowled slightly. "This is the last round you shuffle, Barton."

Trowa looked so affronted that Quatre laughed softly. "Trowa wouldn't cheat, Wufei. I think you're just bad at the game."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they came back from lunch, Duo was still sitting there. Unsure of what else to do, Quatre hovered behind Wufei as the boy strode over to stand in front of Duo. Violet eyes slowly lifted to meet stern onyx as Wufei regarded the older boy with pity. "He was in the hospital just a few days ago, Maxwell. Maybe he won't come."

"He will," Duo replied, tone a bit fierce. He lowered his eyes, staring straight through Wufei with a determined set to his jaw.

Wufei's eyes softened slightly before he turned away, pulling a slim paperback book from his pocket. "So you have enough points for the trip?" Wufei asked the small blonde at his side before claiming a seat beside Trowa. A second girl had joined the first, her eyes more alert as she actually watched the television, but they otherwise had the room to themselves.

"Trip?" Quatre asked, taking the chair on Trowa's other side. The stoic boy was bent over a game of solitaire.

"At two-thirty anyone with enough points and clearance from their doctor can go on the trip into town," Wufei explained. "Heavily escorted, of course. When I went we were all served ice cream before being hustled back on to the bus, but it wasn't so bad. Got me out of here for a few hours."

"I don't think so..." Quatre answered. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to go by myself."

Wufei shrugged, "I'm sure I have enough."

Again, Quatre shook his head, and Wufei gave another small shrug before opening his book. Trowa swept up the cards from the table and began to shuffle them, looking up to arch one slim eyebrow at Quatre.

"I'm not very good at War," Quatre answered the unasked question, leaning forward over the table slightly. Wufei and Trowa had played the card game all morning before Trowa finally won, just before lunch.

Before Trowa could deal out the cards, however, Dorothy walked over to them and took a seat with a firmness that suggested she didn't care what they wanted, she was sitting there. "Have you ever seen such a pathetic sight?" she asked, nodding towards Duo. Wufei glanced up from his book to give her a dark-eyed glare.

"Don't be so mean, Dorothy," her friend corrected as Relena dragged over a chair from against the wall, clearly planning on joining them. Quatre scooted closer to Trowa to make room for the two girls. "Duo's devotion is rather noble, I think."

Dorothy flipped back a length of dark gold hair, "Whatever you say. I'm not envying you, Quatre, come Sunday night."

Quatre looked up in alarm, "What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't want to share a room with Duo, especially during one of his moods. I heard he doesn't sleep at night, and just stays up for hours, staring across the room..."

Chills ran down Quatre's spine as he hunched back in his chair, clutching Sandy desperately to him.

"Stop it, Dorothy," Relena chided lightly. "I'm sure Duo has to sleep at some point. Shall we play a game? How about Hearts?"

Suitably distracted, Dorothy frowned and rose from her chair, "I'm better at Spades. Switch me seats, Trowa, so I can be Relena's partner."

A bit of human and playing card shuffling later, Quatre sat across the table from Trowa and was in charge of keeping score. Shifting nervously in his chair, he tried not to notice the way Relena kept glancing to the score sheet and then back to her cards, which she was still arranging. Dorothy made a clicking sound with her tongue and spread her cards out. "I'll bet nil," she said with a gleeful smile.

Trowa rolled his eyes slightly at Dorothy and held up four fingers.

"You always go nil," Relena grumbled to her partner, rearranging her cards a bit more.

"Just be glad she didn't go blind nil," commented the Chinese youth. Quatre looked up from his own cards to notice with slight surprise that it was Trieze who lounged across the chair, Wufei's book forgotten on his chest.

"Five," Relena bet confidently, and all eyes turned to Quatre.

He shuffled his own cards nervously, wishing he could remember how the game was played better than he did. A vague memory rose of learning it in school from watching the other children play, but this was his first time to try on his own. As he sat there stupidly staring at the cards, Relena suddenly leaned over and grabbed the score sheet and pencil.

"Oh, for crying out loud..." Dorothy rolled her eyes and watched in amusement as the other girl furiously erased what Quatre had written. Relena bent over the paper and meticulously replaced the hastily drawn lines with perfect, neat strokes to divide the paper into two perfect halves. "You do know how to play, don't you?" Dorothy asked, turning a sharp look to Quatre.

"Um," he murmured nervously, heat rising to his cheeks.

"Here," said Trieze, coming around to stand behind Quatre's chair. He leaned down over the boy's shoulder, black hair falling forward to brush Quatre's cheek. "I'll help you." Surprised, Quatre could only nod as Trieze slung one arm across the back of the chair and perched on the arm. "Quatre here will bid four."

Relena set down the first card and the game began. When it came to Quatre's turn, he reached for a card only to find Trieze's hand gently close over his own. "This one," Trieze whispered, setting Quatre's hand on a lower card than he had originally grabbed for.

The two girls exchanged telling looks over the top of their cards as Quatre nodded mutely and played the indicated card. "You know," Dorothy said casually, "if you had wanted to play, Trieze, we would have let you."

"Ah, but Spades isn't a five player game," Trieze countered.

Relena smirked and claimed the trick, "But Go Fish is."

"Here, this one," Trieze said in a low voice to Quatre, ignoring Relena's suggestion. The game progressed without incident, and Quatre, with Trieze's guidance, held his own against the other, experienced players.

"You went nil holding the King of Spades?" Relena suddenly exploded as she furiously snatched up the cards, having won the trick with the ace.

Dorothy merely grinned at her partner, much to Trieze's amusement. The older boy's laughter caused him to slide off the arm of the chair and almost into Quatre's lap. When Trieze made no effort to move, Quatre edged aside to make it a little more comfortable for the two of them in the chair.

"You're looking awfully smug, for someone who doesn't have a single trick yet," Relena snapped peevishly, glaring at Trieze.

"There's still six tricks left," Trieze said lightly, leaning in close to whisper to Quatre. "We'll take the last six and show her, right?"

A shiver ran down the blonde's spine at the feel of Trieze's breath tickling his ear. He was suddenly very conscious of the lean length of thigh pressed so close to his own, and Quatre felt his face flush scarlet with embarrassment. Tendrils of Trieze's hair brushed against his neck as he leaned forward, quickly setting the first card he grabbed on the table.

He glanced up to Trowa briefly as he did so, and was frozen in place by the dark and dangerous glare across the boy's face. Quatre felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked down at the card, and then back up at Trowa. Was it the wrong one? His anxiety melted into confusion as he realized the stoic boy's emerald fury was directed not at him, but over his shoulder to Trieze.

Puzzled, Quatre sat back slightly only to find Trieze's arm against his shoulders. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes glimmering with a challenge as the Chinese boy regarded Trowa. "For someone who's about to win the game, you don't look so happy," he remarked in a smug tone.

Trowa merely glared before lowering his gaze to the cards.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner signaled the end of visitation hours, and Duo rose without a word to put his drawings away in their room. Quatre thought about following, but instead clung close to Trowa, Trieze having vanished off somewhere after they all bored of playing cards. He stared up at the back of the older boy's head and wondered about the animosity between him and Trieze during the game. It made little sense to him, and it didn't take long for Quatre to assume Trowa had actually been glaring at him and not the Chinese youth.

But what had he done to upset Trowa? They had played well against the girls and the first game had been a close win for Dorothy and Relena. The second game had ended with a victory of the boys, so why would Trowa be angry with him? Quatre furiously retraced the day's events, trying to find some reason for Trowa's dark glares.

Deep in thought, Quatre didn't look up quick enough to avoid running into Trowa when the tall boy suddenly stopped walking. For a moment, Quatre's face rested against the warmth of Trowa's back, the light smell of fabric softener drifting over him. As soon as he realized what had happened, though, Quatre hastily backed up.

Trowa glanced back slightly, eyes flicking to Quatre just enough to acknowledge the younger boy in what was likely an apology, before staring back across the room. Following Trowa's gaze, Quatre saw a young woman he recognized as Trowa's sister talking to a nurse just outside the dining hall doors. Catherine wore a waitress uniform and looked as if she'd run all the way to the asylum, though Quatre knew that wasn't true.

Catching sight of her brother, Catherine waved happily and hurried over, the nurse following. "I'm so sorry!" she gushed, grabbing one of Trowa's hands. "I got called in to work and I just now got off."

"Visitation hours are..." the nurse started to say,

"I know!" Catherine snapped, whirling on the nurse. "I'll only be a minute. Please. He's my brother," she pleaded.

The nurse, an older woman, relented and backed off, glancing at her watch with a clear impatience. Trowa stared at his sister with dulled eyes, as if he barely recognized her. Undeterred, Catherine smiled up at him and clutched his hand close, "I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier. Are you well?"

Trowa made no reply, and his sister awkwardly released him, stepping away slightly. She looked unsure of herself for a moment before smiling once more, cheerful. "I won't be in tomorrow to see you, but I'll be here Tuesday. Be good until then, okay? Trowa... please try and cooperate with Doctor S. He... he can help you," she finished, looking sadly up Trowa, who mutely stared at a point above her head.

Catherine gave him one final smile before tip-toeing up to kiss the stoic boy's cheek. "I'll see you Tuesday," she said firmly, at last allowing the nurse to escort her out.

Slowly, Trowa's eyes traced her progress, and the boy looked poised to go after her, or call out. But Trowa merely stood there, long after Catherine disappeared from his sight. Quatre felt like an intruder on the boy's solitude, and his heart went out to Trowa. Slowly, he reached out and slipped a hand through the other boy's, squeezing it slightly. Trowa turned to look at him, surprise flashing through his eyes.

Quatre smiled shyly back and started to pull his hand away, but Trowa held on, returning the squeeze.

They might have stood like that forever, if Duo hadn't walked by with all the dark gloom of a thundercloud. Distracted, Quatre turned his head to look at his roommate, and the moment between him and Trowa faded as their hands fell away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duo maintained a dark silence all through the meal and the rest of the evening, the normally talkative boy refusing to join any conversation.

That night, however, just after lights out, Duo spoke into the dark of the room, "He'll be here tomorrow."

Quatre didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "I'm sure he will, Duo," the younger boy whispered back.

The words didn't sound convincing even to him.

-

-

Author's Notes: (fixed the formatting. This is why I shouldn't upload chapters when dead tired)  
I'm sure I could of far better notes to put here if it wasn't 3:30 in the morning, and I didn't have to be at work nine. As such, I'll only say a few things briefly:  
As there was some confusion about Wufei and his personalities, I will direct your attention to chapters three and nine. In chapter three, Duo mentions how Wufei does not know he has multiple personalities. He believes Trieze and Meiran are separate people. I hope that clears up some confusion about that.  
Also, I'm sorry if anyone was confused and thought Heero was in the mental institution as well. Hopefully the last chapter cleared that misunderstanding up. Later chapters will better and more fully explore the two of them.  
Oh, and I hope the beginning to this chapter didn't totally confuse people. I thought I'd try something a little different, and that's just how the muse demanded that section be written.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2004 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.  
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)  
I'm still homeless!  
Can you give me a website?


	14. Breaking Down

LSE 1-30-05  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fourteen: Breaking Down)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Breaking Down

-

Sunday passed much the same as Saturday, only as the day crept later, Duo started to look less and less confident. Mid-afternoon found Quatre curled in one of the armchairs staring up at the television screen in mindless boredom. Wufei sat nearby engrossed in his paperback, his shoulder-length black hair loosely gathered back in a single bundle. Glancing up from the novel, Wufei's eyes skimmed over Duo and then paused as he lowered the book more.

A cluster of young women stood by the nurse's station, all three women sharing the same shining gold hair. The nurse pointed directly to where the three friends sat, and as one of the women turned Wufei sat up straighter in his chair. "Winner," he called, turning his head slightly, "do you know any of those women?"

Quatre looked away from the television and then went rigid, eyes going wide with either panic or fear. "Quatre!" the young woman called, brushing back her chin-length hair as she and the two others started walking towards them.

The boy barely had time to stand up before they reached him, the lead woman snatching Quatre into a hug. From where he sat, Wufei couldn't see his face, but if the stiff set to those frail shoulders were any indication, Quatre wasn't overflowing with joy to see the women.

"What are you doing here?" Quatre asked, alarmed, as he was passed between the three of them for hugs.

"Why wouldn't we come see our darling little brother?" returned one of the women, shorter than the other two, but dressed in a fashionable skirt and jacket. All three women were taller than Quatre, although the shortest just barely.

"Are these your friends?" the third, who had yet to speak, asked, looking at Wufei and Trowa as if she expected them to lunge up and bite her. It was the look one gave animals in the zoo. She was the tallest of the three, a willowy sort of woman, dressed in a simple floral dress. Honey curls fell to her shoulders, clipped back away from her face.

Quatre nodded, eyes to the floor, and mumbled out a hasty introduction. "Wufei and Trowa, these are my sisters Iria, Meredith, and Constance." He gestured to each in turn, Iria being the one with chin-length, wavy hair. She wore jeans and a ruffled top and gave the two boys a genuine smile.

"The others couldn't make it", Meredith, the shortest sister, explained to her brother.

Constance, the taller woman, started to speak, but Iria shifted to set her foot on top the other's, silencing her. "I'm glad to see you're doing well, Quatre," Iria said, setting her hand to the boy's cheek.

Only Wufei saw the way Quatre's hands clenched tighter around his bear at the touch. The young boy still looked more stunned than anything at his sisters' sudden appearance. Trowa caught Wufei's eyes and gestured slightly with his head. Wufei nodded and they started to remove themselves from the little group, slowly trying to give Quatre some privacy.

The small blonde glanced up from the top of his bear and met Trowa's eyes, startled panic welling in aquamarine hues. Trowa shrugged slightly before turning away, following Wufei over to where Duo sat.

"Who are they?" Duo asked, eyes skittering away from his vigil momentarily.

"Winner's sisters," Wufei answered shortly, looking not at the small blonde as he spoke. The Chinese youth's dark eyes were focused entirely on Duo, taking in the tense set to the older boy's shoulders and the crushing sense of desperation so thick, Wufei felt he could almost reach out and touch it.

Duo nodded slightly and gripped the papers in his lap tighter.

"Maxwell," Wufei started to say, but the words refused to form when Duo glanced over at him, amethyst holding onyx for the briefest of seconds. Scowling, Wufei gained his feet and tried to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks. Without saying anything, he started walking towards the library, hoping to lose himself in books for the rest of the afternoon.

Trowa remained sitting where he was, watching Quatre and his sisters from the corner of one eye. It came as a surprise to him when Duo suddenly spoke, looking at Trowa instead of the doorway. "He's just going to hurt you."

Green eyes snapped with fury as they turned to meet Duo.

"Maybe not on purpose," Duo continued with a small nod towards Quatre. "But you will end up hurt because of him. You're just a friend to him, and what are friends in this place?"

Trowa turned his head away, shoulders stiff with silent anger as he ignored Duo's jabs.

"He doesn't love you."

Hands forming fists at his side, Trowa jolted up out of his chair and spun to face Duo. Duo smiled placidly up at the silent rage his words had summoned and pointedly looked away. After a long moment, Trowa shoved his hands into his pockets and sat back down, an uncharacteristic petulance on his face and in his stance.

"You'll see," Duo said quietly.

* * *

Although the chimes for dinner signaled his sisters' leaving, it was with great reluctance Quatre turned toward the dining hall. Having beaten his friends to the line, Quatre hurriedly grabbed his lumpy dinner and found a seat at their usual table, but he secretly hoped to finish before any of them could arrive. He didn't want them to ask questions. He didn't want to think about the sideways looks his sisters had given him. Why did they have to visit? Did they want to see for themselves...?

No!

A tray hit the table across from him with an unmistakable plastic sound, but Quatre kept his eyes lowered to his food. After a few minutes when the other person remained silent, Quatre looked up expecting Trowa, but instead saw Duo, his posture mirroring Quatre's as he chased a pea around his plate. Of Wufei and Trowa there was no sign, and Quatre suddenly found himself longing for one of them.

Duo didn't look up.

Duo didn't speak.

It sent a chill down Quatre's spine. The hairs along the back of his neck started to stand on end, and he decided right then that he wasn't hungry after all. Jerking to his feet, he grabbed his still-full tray and hurried out, dumping the food in the trash as he went. The small blond nearly collided with Trowa at the doorway, the taller boy grabbing Quatre's elbow to help him stay balanced.

Green eyes met his own startled gaze with concern, but Quatre shrugged free and muttered something before breaking away. Despite his rush, he did remember to stop by the nurse's station to collect his medication. Even taking in his dislike of the pills, taking them was easier than risking a confrontation with Doctor G or the nurses. Since it was too early for sleep, Quatre looked desperately around for something to occupy him. Somewhere safe from Duo.

His eyes fell on the points board next to the station. Duo lacked any points at all, still, but Quatre saw, much to his amazement, ten points next to his own name. Glancing nervously to the cafeteria as he passed it, Quatre made his way across the common area to the library doors. The bored-looking librarian at the desk asked for his name, and Quatre hugged Sandy close as he replied.

The young man nodded and waved him through. Relieved, Quatre stepped deep into the scholastic sanctuary, safe from Duo's strange silence. He liked his roommate, but something was very wrong with Duo. Quatre had the feeling something bad was going to happen, and he didn't want to be around for it.

Idly browsing the small library, Quatre stumbled across a few chairs near the back, pushed into an alcove with large windows. As Quatre stared out at the early-evening sky, it occurred to him he had not been outside since entering the asylum. Would he eventually waste away without sunlight? If he closed his eyes, could he still feel sun kiss his face?

Suddenly, the hospital seemed a very grey and bleak indeed.

"Hello, Winner," said a composed voice, and Quatre broke his train of thought with a slight jump. Wufei sat curled in one of the chairs, his position so at odds with the boy's usual attitude that Quatre doubted which personality held control. The glasses and hair suggested Wufei, and the pose seemed out of place for Meiran and Trieze as well, so Quatre was left wondering stupidly who it was he conversed.

As if sensing Quatre's hesitance, Wufei unfolded his legs slightly and gestured to the second chair. "Would you like to sit?"

Still watching Wufei in confusion, Quatre did so and tried to think of something to say. He suddenly and desperately wished Trowa was there to confirm the boy's personality. Thinking of the quiet, older boy made Quatre's heart beat faster, and he felt an embarrassed blush start across his face. He glanced sheepishly through his bangs, expecting to see Wufei frowning at him, as the Chinese boy sometimes did. Onyx eyes, however, looked not at Quatre, but rather stared blankly out at the bookcases.

Quatre sat straighter and couldn't help but openly stare. Was it just his imagination, or were the boy's dark eyes... wet? "Um, Wufei...?" the young blonde questioned timidly, leaning forward slightly. "Is everything all right?"

"Yuy never comes," Wufei said slowly, not looking at Quatre. "But Maxwell always waits for him. He will wait until he can no longer make up excuses, until lack of sleep and skipped medicine destroys him. It's happened before. It'll continue to happen, so long as Maxwell loves him."

"Maybe..." Quatre bit his lip and then shrugged. "How do we know Heero doesn't love Duo? I think... I mean, Duo says he does."

Wufei smiled slightly and shook his head, "Remember what I told you? I've seen them together. I've barely heard Yuy say a dozen words to Maxwell, and none of them included anything affectionate."

Quatre persisted, not wanting to argue, but desperately hoping for his roommate's sake that Wufei was mistaken. "But just because he doesn't say anything... Trowa doesn't talk, but..." Quatre flushed a deep crimson and the rest of the sentence faded off into acute embarrassment. He dropped his eyes and fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and when he looked up, Wufei was staring at him with an unreadable look on his face.

Quatre blinked in surprise, but before he could say anything the other boy broke his gaze and spoke. "Like I said, though, this has happened before. Maxwell isn't sleeping, and he isn't taking his medication either. He's been manic for the past week and it's only getting worse. Please watch out for yourself."

"He isn't ... dangerous, is he?"

Was it just Quatre's imagination, or did Wufei hesitate before answering? "No. He would never hurt a friend on purpose."

Hugging Sandy close, Quatre tried to ignore the ominous chill that crept down his spine. At that moment, he would have given anything to be anyone else's roommate instead of Duo's. He could avoid Duo all day long, but at night he was trapped in the room they shared.

* * *

So worked up was he that Quatre laid awake all night staring at the ceiling and hearing the quiet sounds of Duo writing from across the room. Sometime in the early morning he finally fell into uneasy slumber, only to be jarred awake at seven prompt when the lights automatically flooded the room. It was with some relief that he resumed the everyday schedule of therapy and boredom.

He knew better than to wish for something exciting to happen, and in truth, the lazy attitude of the hospital did seem rather soothing. In group therapy he worked on his painting and did his best to remain hidden near the back while Richards went around observing their work. The doctor seemed disappointed with Meiran's picture, and when he saw Relena's, a fairly decent self-portrait, he had to calmly explain the assignment again to her.

Since he liked drawing, Quatre found he actually enjoyed the session. He found it easier than individual therapy with Doctor G, but the hour passed mercifully quick and he was free again to do nothing. He first wandered around the library, hoping to run into Wufei again, but the Chinese youth proved elusive. Trowa turned up right before dinner and they had time to play a round of cards.

As they were leaving the cafeteria, Quatre started to ask Trowa if he wanted to continue their game, but before he could, Wufei came barreling between them, knocking Quatre off balance. Trowa swiftly gripped Quatre's arm to keep the small blonde from falling, and they both stared after Wufei in amazement. The boy slowed before he hit the doors that led out of the common area, taking a sharp right down a small corridor Quatre had never visited before.

In response to the sudden, curious look Quatre flashed him, Trowa frowned slightly and lifted his hand to his face, thumb to against his ear and pinky extended to his mouth. "The telephones?" Quatre guessed, and was rewarded with a nod. "Why would Wufei..."

Trowa's eyes widened slightly and he gripped Quatre's hand, jerking the smaller boy along as he hurried in the same direction. Quatre thought for sure the nurses would notice them, as Trowa was nearly running, but, miraculously, they made it without attracting attention. Rounding the corner to the small nook where the three pay-phones stood, Quatre finally understood the other two boys' rush.

Duo sat on the floor, hands over his head and the phone tucked between his head and shoulder. He was shaking, the sound of his sobs audible from where Quatre stood, rooted to the spot. Wufei hovered an arms length away from Duo, arms clenched into fists at his side, the boy clearly torn between allowing Duo privacy and wanting to offer comfort. Trowa took a step forward, still holding on to Quatre's hand, a fact the young blonde noticed acutely with a blush.

"Why?" Duo said suddenly into the phone, and Quatre realized Duo probably didn't realize they all stood around watching, silent spectators to the boy's pain. Quatre felt awkward, it didn't seem right. He tugged on Trowa's hand to get the taller boy's attention, hoping to convince him to leave, but to Quatre's great disappoint, Trowa merely let go of his hand, instead of turning around.

"Why, Heero? I waited! You said you'd come, you said... Why? Why won't you answer me? Answer me, Heero!" Duo shrieked, suddenly surging to his feet. Violet eyes flew open as he saw Wufei, and then Trowa and Quatre further back. Duo averted his eyes, leaning against the wall as he lowered his voice back to a whisper. "Maybe... you weren't feeling well? You were in the hospital just a few days ago. Did your head hurt, so you couldn't make it?"

As Duo made excuses for Heero, Quatre watched a dark look come over Wufei's face. He wondered if the anger was for the love-struck Duo, or the ever-silent Heero Yuy, who remained a mystery to Quatre. What Duo was saying did make sense, in a way. He felt a strange sense of loyalty to a boy he had never met, simply for the fact Duo held him in such high regard.

"If Yuy was not feeling well enough to come visit you, was he also too ill to call and tell you that?" the Chinese boy spoke suddenly, in a clear, loud voice.

Duo lifted his head from the wall and stared at Wufei in utter disbelief. Wufei stared back with a challenge clear in his dark eyes, and it was in that moment Quatre realized it was Trieze who stood there, holding Wufei's glasses in his hand. The change had happened so quick they had all missed it, as Quatre was absolutely sure Wufei had been present just moments before.

"Well?" Trieze sneered slightly, stepping forward and snatching the phone out of Duo's stunned grip. "Did you hear that, Heero?"

The way he said the name made it almost seem as if Trieze doubted Heero's very existence, or at least, whether or not he really was on the other end of the line. However, that suspicion didn't last very long, as whatever Heero said in reply made Trieze give a heated scowl. Duo recovered him his shock and snatched the phone back, holding it protectively to his chest. "Trieze! Fuck off!" he hissed.

Trieze took an involuntary step back, face flickering strangely. Quatre looked between his two friends with alarm. It almost looked as if Trieze were in pain, or as if... Quatre's eyes went wide as he realized Wufei, or maybe Meiran, was trying to break free. The hesitance in Trieze's face went away as he closed the gap between him and Duo. "Hang up the phone, Duo," he commanded.

"Go away!" Duo turned away and lifted the phone again. "Heero? ...Heero! Don't hang up! Please, don't hang up! Heero...? You'll be here this weekend, right? Heero...?"

Quatre turned his head away, unable to watch or listen anymore to his friend in such pain. He didn't realize he was crying, an echo of Duo's heart-break, until warm fingers brushed tears from his cheeks. He looked up to see Trowa looking sympathetically down at him, and Quatre tried to feign an apologetic smile as he scrubbed his face with one fist. Trowa returned the smile, but their moment was shattered by Trieze, having snatched the pone from Duo, slamming the receiver down on to the base.

-

-

* * *

Author's Notes: Whew. Did you forget about me? I can only apologize. A lot has happened since I last posted a chapter! I'm still working and attending school, so not a whole lot of free time. I've moved into my own dorm room, which means I can keep longer hours and not annoy my roommate with the light being on. This all, of course, means I have no idea when I'll have the next chapter out. I'd like to say very soon. I keep taking a break from this story to work on others, and for that I apologize. This is really and truly my baby, so there is no way I will ever simply give up on it. Like always, I urge you to be patient! I know it may seem forever, but there will be a next chapter. 

All your reviews mean the world to me and give me the encouragement I need to keep writing. Thank you!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2005 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.  
LSE - Violet Nyte (ManzokuBiscuit I'm still homeless! Can you give me a website?


	15. Crimson

LSE 2-2-05  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifteen: Crimson)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Crimson

-

_He's in pain._

_Just let me talk to him._

_You've done enough trouble, Trieze._

_He looks angry._

_Both of you be quiet._

_Wufei, maybe we should..._

Dark eyes focused on the sight of Duo's face, lips half-open with shock as the boy simply stared and stared, the absence of anger more terrible than if it had been present. Trieze returned the gaze with a stifling arrogance despite the internal turmoil raging inside his head. To him, of course, it seemed as if Wufei and Meiran were on either side of him, bickering. Reality blurred all things grey to the alternate personality.

The tension scaled upward as Trieze waited for Duo to lash out, but that moment never came. With a single, desperate sob, Duo fell to his knees on the floor, face burying into his hands. The long chestnut plait drooped despondently to the ground, a snaking tail over the black-on-black of Duo's clothes.

_Look what you did, Trieze!_

_Shut up, Meiran._

_Maxwell...?_

_...Wufei?_

_Maxwell!_

_Hey, what's wrong?_

_Duo!_

As quick as he appeared in the first place, Trieze vanished as the wire-frame glasses were quickly shoved into place. Wufei dropped to his knees beside Duo and started to reach out to him. "Maxwell..."

"Go away!" Duo screamed, lifting his tear-streaked face. "Haven't you done enough?"

"But..." Wufei felt confused and bewildered, the two emotions at odds with his usual composition, and it showed on his face. He felt a gentle touch to his shoulder and looked up at Trowa's much taller frame. The stoic boy shook his head slightly in warning.

Slowly, Wufei rose to his feet, dark eyes staring down at Duo, who hid his tears with one sleeve, head bowed once more. Touch still gentle, but insistent, Trowa guided Wufei to turn around and gave the younger boy a slight push. Still half-dazed, Wufei shuffled out of the nook, passing Quatre who still stood riveted in one spot.

Trowa knelt and carefully lowered Duo's arm from the tear-streak face, watching him with sympathy and pity before rising back to his feet and pulling Duo with him. Still half-sobbing, Duo complied and the two started to leave. When Trowa looked at him, Quatre understood he was to check for any nurses in the area. If they saw Duo upset there would be questions.

Questions he wasn't sure could be answered.

* * *

Just before lights out, Quatre looked up from a book to see Wufei standing in the doorway of their room. Likewise, Duo rolled his head away from watching the ceiling to stare at the Chinese boy. Visibly steeling himself, Wufei waited for Trowa's silent form to join him in the doorway before speaking. "You must take your medicine, Maxwell, instead of your usual tricks."

Duo's eyes narrowed briefly before a careless, false smile crossed his face. "I've been a good boy, Wufei. After my little scene with Dickie, they found out I'd been skipping. They can test for it in your bloodstream, unfortunately. So you see, no need to worry," the final words held a hint of anger and warning equally mixed.

"Don't try to act like that's going to work. You always play good until they've gotten lazy about it again." Wufei hesitated before adding in a quiet plea, "We're worried, Maxwell. We've seen this happen before. If... if you continue, we will tell the doctors."

"I think just you will tell the doctors, Wufei, unless Trowa's broken his silence without me knowing. Ne, Trowa? Cat got your tongue?" Duo mocked, grinning a cold smile at Trowa.

Quatre sat upright, appalled that Duo could be so cruel to his friends, who were only trying to help.

Wufei seemed unaffected by Duo's words, "You said it yourself, they can test your blood."

Leaning forward on his bed slightly, Duo's smile vanished and he suddenly looked very angry. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Wufei challenged.

The small blonde looked between his friends with a slight panic before edging backwards towards the headboard. Were they going to fight? Duo's anger frightened him, even if it wasn't directed at him. When his roommate suddenly looked right at him, Quatre let out an involuntarily squeak as he hugged Sandrock tighter to himself, eyes flying wide.

Violet eyes flashed between the three of them before the fight seemed to leave Duo and he lay back on the bed with a sigh. "Fine," he muttered, rolling away to face the wall.

* * *

Quatre walked on eggshells around his roommate for the entire day, but his fears seemed unreasonable. Duo acted complacent, not even back-talking to Doctor Richards as much as usual. Something kept Quatre from relaxing entirely, however, especially when Wufei pulled him aside just after dinner and, in a low voice, asked if Duo was sleeping at night.

"I... I'm not sure? He's awake when I go to sleep and wake up," Quatre explained, hunching his shoulders slightly.

Wufei frowned in concern, looking over Quatre's shoulder to Duo, who was dutifully downing his medicine at the nurse's station. "I just have a bad feeling," the Chinese boy muttered, releasing Quatre's arm.

The blonde hesitated, "You... you said Duo wouldn't... I mean..."

"I never said Duo wouldn't hurt himself," Wufei clarified in a quiet, strained voice. Dark eyes lowered away from the stunned disbelief in aquamarine as Quatre realized what Wufei meant. With a slight, embarrassed shrug, Wufei left Quatre standing there alone.

* * *

That night, Quatre woke with a start, staring up at the black on black of his surroundings while his mind frantically tried to identify what exactly had caused his sudden awakening. Slowly, he became aware of a low, hissed whispering from across the room. Sitting upright with Sandy held close, Quatre peered into the shadows that marked Duo's side of the room. "Hey?" he called quietly to his roommate.

The whispering stopped.

The small blonde fumbled at the side drawer for the flashlight stashed inside and flicked it on, the beam shooting through the darkness to illuminate the floor beneath Duo's bed. Glittering eyes shone slightly in the dim light as his roommate lifted his head. Quatre froze, flinching back instinctively. "Duo? What are you doing up?" he asked with a calmness he didn't feel.

Duo played a melody on the small electric keyboard, the volume down so low Quatre had to strain to hear it. The notes hovered in the air, a melancholy dirge that sent a chill down Quatre's spine.

Wufei's warning came back to him, and the light quivered as Quatre began to tremble. Every instinct told him to just turn the light off and crawl under the covers, but he swallowed a cold lump of fear and slid out from the bed, padding quietly across the room.

He paused an arms length away, the beam of light pointed at the floor. Duo sat, head bowed, with the keyboard across his lap. He plunked out a series of notes, and then hit the same key over and over, as if stuck in mid song. "What comes next?" Duo whispered, playing the series again and again, each time stopping at the same point.

"I don't know. What song is it?" Quatre's voice shook as much as his hand. He didn't understand why he was so scared, and that only frightened him even more.

The older boy did not answer, and the tempo of the melody increasing with each play, until Duo's hand flew over the keys. Quatre backed away slightly as Duo gave a wordless snarl, but then crept guiltily forward. "Duo? Maybe you should go to bed..."

"I can't remember how the song ends!" Duo cried, slamming his fist on to the keys, a rough chord booming out in protest.

Quatre winced, "It's okay. You'll remember in the morning."

Duo shook his head, furious at his roommate for not understanding. Why did no one ever understand? Thoughts chased thoughts around in his head and he couldn't grasp at any of them when the encroaching darkness threatened to take away all thought. And when he slept he was awake, and dreams were but illusions that promised what could never be. The song eluded him just as Heero never came and he knew, knew way down deep inside that Heero would never come, but that never stopped him from dreaming, and dreams were only illusions.

The few bits of the melody chased around the thoughts in his head and tangled up against logic only to run into the darkness and never be found again, never ever. He could fly and soar but what went up must come down and the medicine only kept him numb. "I can't remember how the song ends," Duo repeated, punctuating each word with punch against the keyboard, not even realizing it when the plastic shattered, cutting his knuckles.

Quatre let out a horrified gasp, the flashlight dropping to the floor and rolling away. "Duo, stop!" he whispered fiercely, bravely trying in vain to pull the keyboard from the older boy's grip.

The clock struck seven and the fluorescent lights flickered to life as all the rooms in the ward lit up, a vibrant wake up call. Quatre blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust, his grip on the keyboard faltering.

Crimson splattered against the bedspread.

"Duo!"

* * *

Wufei sat across from Trowa and frowned, looking at the two empty seats before twisting in his chair and staring back at the breakfast line, which was nearly empty. Turning back around, he found Trowa gazing at him with a question in green eyes. "I was delayed a little this morning," he explained, as it was almost half-past eight. "Did Maxwell and Winner already eat?"

Trowa looked down at the few cold crumbs that remained of his breakfast, and shook his head.

"I haven't seen them," Wufei said slowly.

Trowa lifted one shoulder to indicate he hadn't either. He had been hoping Wufei would provide a reason for the two boys' absence. Trowa unconsciously lifted a hand to his chest as if in sudden pain, trying to shake the cold, terrible feeling that gripped him.

Wufei's eyes roamed thoughtfully around the cafeteria, as if hoping to see his friends' faces. "But Maxwell's been taking his medication," he said in the same slow, careful tone.

Trowa nodded, lifting heavy eyes from his empty plate.

"Unless..."

A solemn silence settled over them both as the inevitable conclusions were reached.

"Do you think...?" Wufei began, but Trowa was already walking away, swift strides weaving him through the tables in the most direct route to the door. With a hasty prayer, Wufei scrambled after him.

"Barton, I passed the nurse's station on my way to breakfast and nothing there suggested we should be worried..." Wufei started to say, but Trowa wasn't listening. All he could think about was the small blonde's safety and, although he knew Duo would never hurt Quatre on purpose...

A nurse ran past them, the Head Nurse's plastic tranquilizing case clutched tight. She was heading for hallway B1, where Duo and Quatre's room was. Along with nearly fifty other boys' rooms. But that didn't stop Wufei from letting out an oath in Chinese.

Trowa's heart leapt into his throat and they both started running after her. He strained his ears, fearing he would hear Quatre's unmistakable screams, but then grew afraid when he didn't.

"Fuckers!" Duo howled. "Nazi bitches!"

An orderly caught Trowa's arm, stopped him several doors away from where Duo's enraged profanity was causing an uproar among the nurses, and a second orderly similarly halted Wufei. A cluster of patients had gathered on the other side, the chaotic scene prevented them from leaving the hallway. Some were still wearing pajamas.

"What's going on?" Wufei demanded, trying to duck under the orderly's arm.

Trowa stood frozen in place, eyes skipping from nurse to nurse as the plastic case was opened and a needle prepared.

"I hate this place! I fucking hate it, and I hate you!" Duo was screaming, and a loud crash came from inside the room. A feminine cry was drowned out by the sound of wooden breaking, and Trowa guessed that the furniture was being overturned. "Hands off me, you giant hulking, drooling brainless bastards!" Duo's voice rose higher with each insult, until the last syllable broke off into a shriek of fury.

When the scream ended, so did Duo's tirade. A couple of nurses walked out leaning on another's arms, tittering nervously, followed by the Head Nurse, who wore a look of grim satisfaction. "Get him down to the infirmary," she commanded a pair of orderlies before turning to her flock of nurses and ordering them find a janitor.

The orderlies disappeared into the room before emerging again with Duo's limp body between them on a stretcher. Flecks of blood dotted the boy's face, closed eyes ringed by dusky shadows that accentuated pallid cheeks. Duo's hands were folded neatly on his chest, the knuckles cut and smeared with blood. Any tell-tale crimson that would give away Duo's other injuries, if there were any, was invisible against the black clothing. The boy's long chestnut braid trailed along the ground, dark and splotchy with, Trowa realized to his acute horror, blood.

A single nurse remained standing in the doorway, but all the rest scattered, some following the Head Nurse, and some trying to coax the small gathering of patients back to their rooms. The orderly keeping Trowa at bay offered a sympathetic smile before leaving.

"Go back to your rooms," the nurse said as they approached, "or go eat breakfast if you haven't already." Looking over her shoulder, the nurse muttered, "Christ, this is going to be hell to clean up.

Trowa stared around her at the complete disaster that was Duo and Quatre's room. The dresser lay on the floor, split open, and the mattress was skidded nearly entirely off the frame on Duo's bed. Quatre's side of the room remain remarkably untouched, except for a scatter of pencils and notebooks that looked to have been thrown from the other side. Papers were everywhere; most of them stippled brown with dried blood.

"Where is Winner?" Wufei asked, voicing the question Trowa couldn't.

The nurse tilted her head to one side in confusion, "Who?"

"Duo's roommate," the Chinese boy clarified, tone harsh with irritation and worry.

The nurse smiled as if she understood, "If you're looking for your friend, why don't you check the dining hall? Have you two eaten breakfast yet?"

"We've eaten," Wufei grumbled, moving out of earshot.

Trowa followed, exchanging glances with his friend.

"He must have woken up before Maxwell," Wufei said, trying to remain optimistic.

The taller boy lifted an eyebrow.

With a thoughtful frown, Wufei corrected himself, "No, because Maxwell doesn't sleep when he's manic. Well, she would have told us if Winner had been hurt, so there is no use worrying over it." Despite his words, Wufei's worried countenance remained.

Trowa looked pointedly at the room, and then the nurse, before meeting Wufei's eyes and wearing a look of pleading.

"You want in there?" Wufei guessed, and was rewarded with a nod. "But you need past the nurse."

Trowa smirked and patted his friend on the shoulder.

"And you want me to distract her while you do it. How do you suggest I do that, Barton?"

Trowa shrugged.

"Can I help?" came a voice from behind them, and both boys turned to find Relena standing there with a worried smile on her normally poised face. "I saw them taking Duo away. What happened?"

"We don't know," Wufei answered, tone wary.

Relena studied his face carefully, reading the evident dislike and distrust in the Chinese boy's dark eyes. "I owe Duo a favor. Do you think this would work as repayment?"

When Trowa nodded, she smiled, and then reached out and shoved Wufei. "Jerk!" she cried vehemently, and Wufei was so surprise he stumbled back a few steps. "I can't believe you would do that!"

Trowa slipped away as a bewildered Wufei reluctantly tried to act like he deserved Relena's outburst. The ruse worked perfectly, however, and the nurse came hurrying over.

The cold feeling in his gut intensified as he stepped over the threshold, eyes and ears alert for... He didn't know exactly what he was looking for; something just told him to be on alert. The room looked the same inside as it had from the hallway, however, and he was about to turn back and rescue Wufei from his unwilling participation as a decoy when something caught his eye, and held it.

A teddy bear, the cream fur of its soft middle flecked with blood

* * *

- 

Author's Notes: So I finished this chapter instead of doing my homework. Can anyone really blame me? Eee, cliffhanger! I'll try to hurry with chapter sixteen. Maybe this weekend? I don't know! It depends on how kind my muses are to me. Um, based on some of the feedback I've been receiving it seems so many of you hate Heero now! Poor Heero! I only do this to him because I love him, after all. You'll just have to stick around for more chapters to find out the truth, ne? And you know what I realized? It's incredibly possible I'll still be working on this story in March. That means I'll have been writing it for an entire year! I hope everyone's still enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. There's still lots of story left, too, so everyone please have faith in me! I'll have the chapters out as fast as I can...!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2005 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people. LSE - Violet Nyte (ManzokuBiscuit at aol dot com)  
Random Japanese sentence: "Tsukue ni atama o butsukeru! Itai!"


	16. Aftermath

LSE / 7-15-05  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixteen: Aftermath)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Aftermath

-

Trowa went cold all over as he knelt carefully and touched the fur, a few strands spiky, the blood dried a dull brown. "Sandy," he mouthed silently, as if the bear's name would summon his owner.

He glanced up to make sure the nurse was still held at bay before raising his voice slightly. "Quatre?"

The boy could be any number of places. In the shower, watching television, or perhaps even now sitting in the cafeteria, wondering where his friends were. But something told Trowa that Quatre was close by. He'd never seen the boy willingly leave behind his bear.

"Quatre?"

Something moved.

Trowa's head snapped towards the sound, so very faint he could have imagined it.

"Quatre, it's me. Trowa."

His ears picked up a soft, steady sound and he readjusted his gaze, staring at Duo's bed. Trowa carefully gripped the heavy mattress and pushed it back on to the box spring. The noise became louder, and he recognized it as muffled weeping.

"Quatre? Is that you?" he whispered, peering underneath the bed at the cramped, dark space where the sobs were coming from. Quatre was wedged as far back under the bed as possible, huddled against the wall and arms lifted to hide his face, curled into as much of a ball as the tight space would allow.

"Hi," Trowa said softly. "Quatre? Can you hear me? It's Trowa. Hey," he coaxed, trying to get a reaction from the small blonde. It hurt him to be so helpless; he was too big to fit under the bed. Pulling back slightly, he looked around for a solution before his eyes fell once more on the teddy bear. Snatching Sandrock up, Trowa lowered himself to the floor and stretched his arm out under the bed, gently pushing the bear towards Quatre.

At the touch, the boy's sobs broke into panicked gasps and Quatre edged even further against the wall. Trowa carefully set Sandy right up against Quatre and then removed his arm, desperately hoping for any reaction from the blonde.

"What are you doing in here!"

Trowa jerked his head up and whirled around to find the nurse from the hall standing in the doorway, and just over her shoulder he could see Wufei and Relena being escorted away by two orderlies. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Trowa slowly gained his feet before pointing to the bed.

The nurse blinked at him, realized who he was, and then spoke in a slow, exaggerated tone, as if speaking to a child or an idiot. "You need to return to your room," she explained, throwing in some crude sign language.

Trowa stared at her and then gestured more emphatically to the bed. _Quatre's here, and I think he's hurt!_

His mouth opened.

The words stuck.

His mouth closed.

"Come on," she repeated, stepping forward as if to bodily eject him from the room.

His heart clenched with fear, but still the words would not come.

The nurse frowned and ran a thumb over the communicator at her hip as she closed the last of the distance between them. Taking Trowa's arm in a sturdy grip, she started to pull him back through the mess.

His throat spasmed. He drowned, choking, on guilt and fear; Quatre could be hurt, was probably hurt, and he couldn't...

"Quat..." he started to say, a hoarse whisper struggling past every subconscious effort his body tried to keep himself silent. The nurse turned her head to look at him, but before she could fully register that the mute had spoken, a shrill screaming drowned out thought and whatever else Trowa could manage to say.

From under the bed came another shriek, a raw sound of terror that sent chills down Trowa's spine. As the nurse released him and swiftly knelt to look under the bed, Trowa stood there in the middle of chaos and felt a sick sense of relief.

Having seen Quatre, the nurse flew to her feet and shouted into her radio for help. Her shocked eyes met Trowa's, and for one startling moment it seemed as if she almost grasped what had happened. But then training over-road humanity, and she was left looking at a seventeen-year-old mute suffering from depression, patient #473, and not a friend torn by sharp guilt.

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There was pain.

No.

There was agony.

He turned away from it, falling further and further into darkness. Voices called but he refused to listen, refused to release the hold on the blessed void. It kept out pain. Fear.

Soft.

Soft.

Silence.

Warmth. Warmth? Something familiar. Someone familiar? He came slowly out from the abyss to investigate, latching on to the soft. Soft.

Pain cruelly reached out before he could retreat again, bringing with it fear, terror, panic. He reacted with violence, shoving frantically at the emotions that kept seeping into his soul. He cried out against them, falling to the sound of screams.

It swept over him, drowning...

Into merciful

Oblivion.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

When he came to, Quatre felt an intense sense of ... abnormality. Not knowing what it was that felt so wrong, he tried to open his eyes and felt a relief when he could. Distant, fuzzy memories of pain layered over a very real ache radiating from his arm. Trying to sit upright left a cold sweat on his brow, so Quatre wisely opted to remain lying down.

Without moving his head too much, he took in a view of his surroundings. All he could see was white due to curtains around his bed. Dim light filtered down from fluorescent bulbs, the sort of ambient lighting one saw in a ...

Hospital.

Quatre felt a moment of panic before he realized it was far too quiet for that explanation to fit. He couldn't hear nurses bustling, machines beeping, or other patients. He'd experienced his share of hospitals to know the unique sounds and smells. This place did not smell like a hospital, although the starch sheets and the acrid smell of sanitation were quite telling.

_Maybe I'm in a part of the institution?_

_Was I hurt?_

The ache in his right arm called for his attention, and Quatre carefully drew the offending limb out from under the blankets. His arm felt... strange, the movement blocky and weighted down. Sleep pricked at the corners of reality, and Quatre just knew medication was to blame. Running his tongue around in his mouth, he tasted the dry, coppery tang that usually indicated he had been tranquilized recently.

A whimper escaped involuntarily as he finally wrestled his arm out from under the blankets. He stared at it in horror. White bandages wrapped firmly over the thin arm from wrist to elbow, and he could see small scratches over his hand and knuckles.

"I'm having a nightmare..." he whispered softly, eyes huge as he slowly lowered his arm. Very real pain argued that he wasn't dreaming.

Quatre squeezed his eyes shut, trying to wake up.

"This isn't real!" he tried to shout, but it came out in a rough rasp.

"This isn't real..."

Then, all at once, memories. Duo playing a single note on his keyboard, the plastic breaking, cutting... Relief so sharp he nearly cried filled Quatre. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't hurt himself.

He looked around at his surroundings again, but the white curtain all around his bed made the scenery rather boring. He cautiously sat up, head spinning with the after effects of the tranquilizer, and slipped his feet over the side of the bed. He was wearing hospital-issue pajamas that were a green-grey and rather starchy. Better that than nothing.

Once his head cleared enough, Quatre stood and cautiously pulled back the curtain. The room was small, his was the third such curtained off bed, and windows lined the opposing wall. He looked at them for a moment, the night outside inky black, and realized he must have slept all day. Last thing he remembered...

The lights flashing on, Duo...

_Duo!_

Quatre hurried away from his bed, looking at the other curtains with apprehension. One set was pulled back, the bed empty, and the other... He crept closer, hand going out to timidly pull the white fabric back. As he feared/hoped, Duo lay in the bed, head half-turned away into the pillow, long chestnut hair free of its usual braid.

The young blonde tightened his grip on the curtain, staring at the pale and still form of his roommate. Despite it was Duo's fault he was hurt, he desperately hoped the other boy was all right. Only the sound of footsteps approaching made him hurry back to his own bed, hastily rearranging the blankets before he settled back down to fake sleeping.

Straining his hearing, he thought he heard faint sounds over by Duo's bed. Quatre cautiously peeped one eye open, but the closed curtains prevented him from seeing anything. When the footsteps drew close to his bed, Quatre hurriedly squeezed his eyes shut and prayed whoever it was would just go away.

_Leave me alone, I'm sleeping!_

The soft whine of metal signaled the curtains being pulled aside. Quatre held his breath, feigning sleep all the harder. He very nearly flinched when fingers rested against his chest, gliding over the blanket in a gentle caress. Panic flicked along his spine, but Quatre remained motionless.

He did flinch when something soft tickled his cheek, but he covered it by shifting his head as if still asleep. Quatre could feel the rapid pound of his heart, a sharp staccato so loud he was afraid his visitor would hear. But still, whoever it was didn't speak, and the curtains protested again as they were pulled close once more.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into Sandy's fur. Blue eyes flew wide as Quatre clutched the bear to himself, brain scrambling to overcome shock and the lingering drugs to work out how it was possible. So quick he nearly toppled over from a sudden wave of vertigo, Quatre leapt from the bed and jerked the curtain back just in time to see Trowa framed against the door, ready to leave.

"...wa!" he rasped out before hastily clearing his throat. "Trowa!"

The older boy turned, staring back across the small room. Quatre took a few steps forward, the rest of what he wanted to say stuck in his throat. "Go back to bed, Quatre," Trowa said in a low voice.

"Trowa?"

But Trowa only shook his head before he was gone.

"Trowa!" Quatre didn't get to the door before it shut again, and when he jerked on the handle it was locked. A keypad next to the door mocked him, and Quatre struggled uselessly with the door. Emotions swirled up into a confusing chaos, the locked door frustrating him to panicked tears. A hand closed over his, pulling him away, and the small blonde stared up at Duo for a long moment before darkness took over, and Quatre toppled into oblivion once again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So I think it's just a problem with the alternator, but he keeps insisting we get him a new battery."

"What can you do. If he wants a new battery..."

"Hey, Boss, phone's ringing."

"Wait there," he growled out before retreating back into the office. The shrill whine of the phone battled with the sounds of the garage for a brief moment, before the door closed behind him. He cut off the phone's third ring with a curt "Green's Autobody."

The door opened with a chime and a customer walked in. "Hey, just a second," he muttered to the phone before setting it aside and greeting the customer. "What can we do for you?"

"Well, my car keeps making this noise whenever I make a turn, and I was just wondering..."

The door leading to the garage opened silently, and one of his mechanics stepped into the small office. The boss ignored him for a moment, getting the customer settled before turning around and holding out the man's keys. "You doing anything?" he demanded.

"No," the young man answered in a quiet tone, taking the keys without waiting to be told. The boss liked the boy, for all that he was somewhat of a loner.

"Take this car in..." he started to order, but hesitated, glancing to the phone. "Wait, Yuy, get Gonzales to do it. You have a phone call."

The boy's hands tightened around the keys for a moment, but no emotion made it up to his stern features. "Yes, sir." He went back into the garage to pass off the keys, then returned to the office. The customer was seated at the far end, flipping through a magazine, and the boss had already disappeared.

Heero stared down at the phone with great reluctance before picking it up. "Yuy speaking."

-

-

Author's Notes: Hey everyone, remember me? It's been over half a year, since the last chapter. And 16 months since I started this 'fic. I apologize for dropping off the face of the planet like that. Life really started to get stressful, I won't go into details, but things are a little better right now. I'm not sure when I'll be able to have the next chapter out.  
It isn't that I'm not still interested in this story, it's just that writing anything at all has become such hard work.  
Well, if you read this, thank you so much. Thank you for sticking with me, and I'll try my best to hurry out the next chapter. I know how much waiting sucks. I don't mean to leave you guys hanging...  
Do you think you could drop me a little feedback, just so I know there are still people reading? Feel free to yell at me for being a bad author and taking forever to update. Vi out!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2005 - Gundam Wing and characters copyright other people.  
LSE - Violet Nyte (no email right now!)  
No webpage, still looking for a home.  
Try my LJ, 


	17. Blue and Gold

LSE / 9-7-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Seventeen - Blue and Gold)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Blue and Gold

-

"He's been like that all week."

"Well what do you expect, with Maxwell as a roommate..."

Quatre sent a furtive glance in the direction of the two nurses as they passed, mentally bristling. He lowered head, staring down at the red marks across his arms. They'd turn into faint scars across even fainter skin, and then melt away altogether. Despite the amount of blood Wufei claimed had been everywhere, both Quatre and Duo had emerged relatively unscathed. Well, except for Duo's hands. He'd beat them pretty badly, but those scars, too, would fade.

"Miss Une told me that Trowa's doing fine," Meiran piped up, looking up from the slim paperback she was reading.

Quatre glanced over at her, hands impulsively clutching Sandy closer.

"Catherine spoke with Doctor S, and he told Miss Une," she said in the same overly-casual tone, ignoring the fierce emotions swirling in the young blond's eyes.

They sat in silence for a while longer, until she spoke again, not bothering to look up from her book. "And Duo wants to know when you'll talk to him again. Well, actually he said, 'I wonder if he's afraid of me' but I took that to mean the same thing."

"I'm not scared of him," Quatre said quietly, studying Sandy's ribbon very intently. It was true, even though he was having the occassional nightmare haunted by that slow melody of Duo's. Sometimes, he thought he heard Duo humming it, and that's when he was scared. But he wasn't afraid of his roommate. "I like Duo."

"That's what I said," Meiran flipped another page, Wufei's glasses on the tip of her nose. "But you know Duo."

Quatre sighed, sinking lower in his chair in an undeniable sulk. "I miss Trowa. Why didn't he tell us he was leaving?"

Meiran shrugged, "He never does."

With all the languid motion of a slinky, Duo flopped backwards over the couch, head sprawled near Quatre's lap. "He'll be back. He loves us all too much to stay away for long. We should place bets on what he'll go with this time."

"That's utterly morbid, Duo."

Still upside-down, Duo merely grinned at her, a hard gleam in his amethyst eyes. "I read somewhere that men are more likely to try more violent methods, like guns and ropes. Then again he's gay, so does that make a difference? I mean, I'm bi and I can't imagine blowing my brains out, but pills seem --"

Meiran playfully swatted Duo on the shoulder, "Don't even finish that sentence, asshole. You're disturbing Quatre."

Even though it was true, the blond flushed crimson and muttered a denial. His blush only deepened when Duo glanced his way, ashamed, before tumbling the rest of the way over the couch. "Well he's nearly eighteen, so maybe he's planning on just lying low until that sweet freedom arrives. Long as you don't do anything too crazy, they have a tough time committing you to the adult funny farms."

Meiran rolled her eyes, "Says the epitome of sanity himself. And besides, Duo, if you're a danger to yourself or society, they can send you away even if you are of age."

"Says the--" Duo stopped his retort in mid sentence, mouth hanging open.

Quatre frowned, uncurling from around his bear as he leaned forward. "Duo? What is it?" he asked softly. Golden brows furrowed inward with concern before he looked to Meiran for an explanation, but she wasn't even looking at Duo.

He turned, looking around the common area for what had caught Duo's attention so thoroughly. It didn't take long to find. All the way over by the nurse's station stood a tense young man with tousled brown hair, dressed in simple jeans and a plain green shirt. A nurse was speaking to him while gesturing emphatically toward the one of the hallways. Duo was watching the pair so intently, Quatre thought maybe he was trying to read the nurse's lips. The nurse threw her hands up in defeat and pointed directly to where Quatre and his friends were sitting.

The young man turned, and even from across the room Quatre could feel the heat of that intense gaze. "Me-Meiran," he whispered urgently, finally getting her to look up from her book.

She took Wufei's glasses off her nose, looking first from Quatre to Duo, and then tracing Duo's stare across the room. Her eyes widened, "I don't believe it."

"Heero!" Duo shrieked, breaking out of his shock. He bounced up from his chair looking panicked. "They took all my stuff, I--" he looked frantically at his friends, but they just merely gaped back at him.

Heero's eyes were focused solely on Duo's face, and now that Heero was within earshot he just stood like a deer in headlights. Quatre shrunk back into his chair clutching Sandy. Heero's bangs swung low, nearly obscuring intense cobalt eyes, and his tanned skin stood out in sharp contrast to Duo's pallor. Machine oil stained the base of his nails, but for that and his messy hair, Heero gave a very clean appearance.

"Heero," Duo whispered when the other boy drew even. "I..."

"Let me see your hands," Heero said sharply. His voice was softer than Quatre would have guessed, but with a hard edge and very little emotion.

Duo held out both hands without protest. They were heavily scratched and a bandage still covered his right palm and wrist. He lowered his eyes, looking ashamed. It was the first time Quatre had even seen Duo care about his wounds. "Heero, I..." Duo tried again, voice small and very hesitant.

Quatre flinched back at the sharp crack, eyes wincing shut. When he opened them again, Duo had one hand to his cheek, eyes wide as he stared at Heero. Meiran was on her feet -- no, it was Wufei! -- and had Heero's raised hand firmly clenched in his own, a murderous look on his face.

That seemed to galvanize Duo into action. "Wufei, sit down! Heero, what are you thinking?" he cried

Heero opened his mouth to reply, then shifted his glare over to Wufei. "Let go. This doesn't concern you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Wufei growled out.

"The - the nurses!" Quatre bit down on Sandy's ear so his voice came out slightly muffled.

"Wufei, please! They'll kick Heero out," Duo implored, setting one hand on the young man's shoulder. "They're going to see..."

Wufei release his hand with a snarl before snatching up Meiran's book. "Fine! I don't care! Deal with him yourself!" his voice scaled up into hysteria for a moment. Wufei turned sharply and stalked off, the bounce of Meiran's pigtails nearly ruining his indignation.

Fierce cobalt eyes followed Wufei out before flicking down to Quatre. Duo glanced between his lover and roommate swiftly before snagging Heero's hand, only to immediately drop it once Heero's glare refocused on him. "Heero... Maybe we should go talk somewhere else?"

Heero made a noncommittal reply, but followed when Duo started to lead him away. Quatre watched them go, releasing a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. That was the infamous Heero Yuy...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It's not like I'm eavesdropping, Quatre reassured himself. I live here, too. But even with that thought, he couldn't move further down the hall from the open door. Ever since his accident, Duo had nurses checking on him every hour and was sleeping in a special room separate from Quatre. It was only on Quatre's insistance (or, more accurately, his father's wallet) they be allowed to stay roommates, but he kept that from Duo and the others. He didn't want them knowing.

The click-clack alerted him to the nurse, but he just hung back and let her pass without saying anything. She gave him a slight smile before rapping on the doorframe. "Everything all right in here, Duo? Yes? Well, be sure to leave the door open," she instructed, earning a sarcastic response from Duo.

"How are you, Quatre?" she asked kindly, stopping to smile at him. Quatre froze, pressing himself firmly into the wall. Go away! he thought frantically, staring down at the floor. An ant scuttled from one tile to another as he watched, and Quatre scooted his foot out of its way. He heard the nurse sigh before she took off, writing something in her clipboard. Feeling somewhat brave, he edged closer to the doorway, still flat against the wall.

Now he could hear them, faintly, and that encouraged him to scoot a little closer. Duo seemed to be doing all the talking, which wasn't that surprising. Duo always did all the talking.

"...where are you going?"

"Stay here," Heero ordered.

Quatre looked around quickly but couldn't see any escape. Heero barely glanced his way, however, striding out into the hallway with both hands buried in his jean pockets. Quatre stared down at his feet in relief. That relief was shortlived, however, as he slowly became aware of eyes burning into the back of his head. He turned, cautiously, to find Heero a little ways down the hallway watching him.

Heero shifted his weight. "Come here."

Too terrified to ignore him, Quatre crept forward.

"You're his roommate."

It wasn't a question, but Quatre nodded anyway.

"I'm sorry he hurt you."

It was said in the same flat, low tone, but the words made Quatre's eyes lift the last few inches to actually meet Heero's. "Did Duo...?"

"Tell me? No," Heero answered cryptically. He nodded down the length of the hallway. "Show me where the nurse's station is."

"O-okay," Quatre whispered, casting a terrified glance toward his room. So close, but it might as well be across the ocean for all the good it did him. Heero was treating him kindly, so kind that Quatre wondered desperately if it wasn't a trap. No, calm down! I've just been listening to Wufei's stories too much, he told himself.

He started walking, and Heero followed dutifully. Odd, since the nurse's station wasn't very hard to find. Or very far away. He hung back as Heero talked with one of the nurses, giving her the exact same flat tone. She conferred with an orderly, then handed Heero a slightly-crumbled bouquet.

"I'm sorry but the other package you brought is unacceptable. We'll return it to you once you leave."

Heero clenched the flowers in a fist at his side. They were yellow, with the ends jagged and uneven, like they'd just been torn out from the ground in one go. "Why is it unacceptable?" he asked, glaring down the nurse with surprising force.

She leaned back, clearly surprised by his question. "I'm sorry, but I really can't say, but it just isn't acceptable right now for the patient."

A couple of petals fell to the ground as Heero tightened his grip. "It hasn't been unacceptable in the past. Check his records again."

The nurse lifted her chin. "I'm sorry, but those are the rules!" Her face softened slightly and she leaned forward, voice lowering. "This isn't permenant. If you want, we can keep the package here and give it to Duo in a few weeks once the restrictions lift."

Brows tightly drawn together in a glare, Heero finally shook his head. "No good," he muttered, turning away without so much as another word to the nurse. Upon a beckoning glance, Quatre hurried after him.

"You know who I am."

Quatre nodded, bear tucked firmly under his arm.

Heero stopped walking and faced him, cobalt eyes searching over the blonde's face. "Are you going to keep listening outside the door?"

Quatre stared down at the floor and clutched Sandy tighter. He shook his head slowly, pale hair brushing across his forehead. His cheeks burned red with shame.

A hand settled on Quatre's shoulder, making the boy flinched. Heero said nothing, however, and released his grip after a moment. Quatre stood there long after the other boy had gone back into the room, and he heard Duo exclaim over the flowers. He was still standing there, frozen in place, when the next nurse passed by her rounds.

-

-

Author's Notes: ...I'm a bad author. I'm so sorry! Forgive me, everyone, I've been so mean to you! What was I thinking, dropping off the face of the planet like that! Sigh! Amazing how time passes. I can't believe it's been an 14 months since the last chapter! I don't want to think about it...  
I'm taking 19 hours this semester, plus my part-time job and my boyfriend. Please forgive me for being so slow! I'm so excited about getting back out there and writing again, but I realize I am very rusty. Eep. Erm, you might have also noticed I started a new story. That's just how my muses work because they hate me. I'm going to try and work on both simultaneously...

Thank you, everyone, for your encouragement! There's too many of you to thank all at once, 55 people reviewed the last chapter and I read every single one of your comments, THANK YOU! It means so much to me! Everyone who's been with me since the beginning, and those of you just joining, thank you so much!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte  
No internet at my house means no webpage...


	18. Fog

LSE / 9-11-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Eighteen - Fog)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Fog

-

"Trowa? Trowa! Where are you?"

He didn't look up from the television, waiting instead for his sister to walk into the room. She stepped in hesitantly, a slight concern ghosting over her face for a brief second. She walked in and stood between him and television. After a moment, Trowa looked up to meet her gaze.

Catherine's smiled wavered, "I thought you were still in your room."

He just stared at her. When she sat next to him on the couch, he simply went back to watching the television.

"What are you watching?" she asked brightly, glancing briefly over to the television. "Oh, Trowa, it's muted. Here, I'll turn the sound on for you."

No, don't. I liked it that way.

"There. Oh, is it a game show? You've always been good at trivia." She smiled, drawing her purse around in front of her. She was still wearing her waitress uniform from work, and Trowa noticed that her nametag said 'Cathy' instead of her full name. Had she started going by that, or was it just for work? He preferred Catherine.

Digging through it for a moment, she pulled out a slim paperback and held it out to her brother. "Do you like crosswords? I noticed you worked the one in yesterday's paper, so I picked this up for you."

He took the book, staring down at the cover. It would be something to do, at least. Emerald eyes lifted and for a brief, fleeting moment he longed to just open his mouth and thank her. What was wrong with him? Ever since leaving the hospital it seemed he had to struggle to keep quiet. He had never had that problem before.

Catherine let out a little sigh, nudging the plain loafers off her feet. "I spoke with my boss today. She says its fine if you come in and help out while I'm working. I thought you could wash dishes, that way you wouldn't have to tal-- I mean, deal with customers."

He felt the weight of her gaze. After a moment, she got up off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, poking her head out every so often to check on him. When the game show ended, some crime drama started. Trowa glanced to the remote. Searching the side table, he found a pencil and started working on one of the crosswords. Next time his sister leaned out to check on him, she beamed at seeing him actually using her present.

When Catherine came back out into the living room, she was carrying a glass of water and a orange pill bottle. Trowa looked up expectantly, but instead of saying anything she just set them down on the side table, even using a coaster for the glass. Green eyes followed her as she simply went back into the kitchen.

Trowa hesitated, watching the doorway for his sister to pop her head back out and check on him. Odd. Normally she nagged him about medication.

Trowa found himself thinking about aquamarine eyes so deep he drowned in them, and felt an unexpected sadness.

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Even though Heero only stayed for an hour, Duo floated around the ward on cloud nine for the remainder of the day. He charmed the nurses and spun a stunned Meiran around the dining hall in an impromptu waltz. In fact, the happier Duo became the gloomier and gloomier Quatre felt, although sharp guilt gnawed at the young blonde's heart. Something about Heero bothered him. He had immediately liked the quiet, soft-spoken boy, but that feeling conflicted sharply with what everyone had told him.

He wanted to speak with Wufei, but every time he went to check it was still Meiran. Quatre finally brought up the courage to ask Meiran directly if she knew where Wufei was, hoping it would trigger something. She merely shrugged. "Did you need him for something?"

"Oh, no," Quatre stepped back into the hall, blushing furiously. "I just wanted to talk to him..."

"I'll let him know," Meiran said cryptically, gesturing to her desk. She laughed slightly at the confused look on the blonde's face and held up a spiral notebook. "I'll write him a note," she clarified.

"Oh. Thanks."

He wandered the halls until lights out, when Quatre returned his lonely room. All of Duo's things were gone, taken away for or destroyed during the boy's outburst, except for some clothes and Heero's flowers. He missed Duo, more than he thought he would. Next week, if Duo was still taking his medication and behaving himself, the doctors were going to let him start sleeping in the room again. For the moment, Duo slept in one of the quiet rooms, which were padded.

But he missed Trowa much more. He missed the quiet boy's company, and how Trowa always seemed to pop up when he was feeling out of sorts. Quatre missed the way his brown hair fell over half his face, and the rare sound of his voice.

Curled around Sandy and burrowed under the covers, Quatre's eyes misted over with tears. Sometimes it seemed that of everyone, Trowa understood him the best. Why did he have to leave?

In the morning, he stayed in bed until Duo burst into the room humming a Christmas carol. His roommate didn't notice him for a moment, and then did an exaggerated double-take. "You're still in bed! You missed breakfast. Meiran asked about you, but we both just assumed you'd gotten up earlier than us."

Quatre shook his head.

Duo faltered for a moment, then sat on the corner of the bed. "Do you not feel well?" he asked, leaning forward to place the back of his hand against the younger boy's forehead.

Since nodding was easier than explaining why he felt miserable, Quatre just did that.

"Oh," Duo said, withdrawing his hand. "I think you feel fine. It's Sunday, you can just stay in bed... But you should eat something. Even if the food sucks, it's better than nothing. Want me to sneak you something out of the cafeteria?"

He shook his head, burrowing deeper under the covers.

"Well. Okay," Duo stood, hands in his pockets, gloomy face a near match to the small blonde's. "D'you want me to stay...?"

Quatre pulled the blankets all the way over his head and curled back around Sandy, trying to ignore the waves of guilt that shook him. Duo always treated him so kindly. Why...? He heard the other boy leave, quietly closing the door when he normally let it slam shut after him.

I don't deserve kindness. Quatre bit down on Sandy's ear. I don't...

He lost track of time, but guessed by his grumbling belly it was close to lunch when the door opened again. Quatre stayed in his little cocoon even when Duo sat on the corner of his bed again. He willed the older boy to just leave him alone. Instead, a firm hand grabbed the top of the blanket and yanked it back.

Quatre blinked in the sudden brightness, startled to see it was Meiran perched on his bed and no his roommate. He flushed brightly; suddenly self-conscious of his rumpled face and the fact he was only wearing a shirt with boxers.

She crossed her arms, "Are you really going to sulk in here all day?"

The idea had occurred to him. Quatre sat up and then pulled his bedding up into his lap along with Sandy.

Dark brows pulled down with concern for a moment. "Duo said you weren't feeling well, but you don't look sick to me."

She sounded unsure, however, and Quatre knew he could easily convince her that he just genuinely felt ill. Meiran saw the hesitation on his face, however, and grinned, "You are just sulking!"

"Am not," he replied in a mumble.

"It's not that I care if you do, it's just Duo is worried. He still thinks you're afraid of him." She held up a hand to forestall his objection, "Which I have repeatedly told him you are not. So, what's up? Homesick?"

I don't have a home, Quatre nearly told her, but instead shook his head, peeking nervously through his bangs at her.

"You've been looking like a kicked puppy ever since yesterday. Did something happen?" she pressed, her concern obvious and genuine. "I'm not Wufei, but I'm a better listener than that lug anyway," she explained with a teasing smile.

"I wanted to talk to Wufei about Heero," Quatre explained quickly. "I wanted him to explain something to me."

Meiran sat quietly for a moment, playing with the hem of her shirt. She watched the blonde with a curious expression before letting out a long sigh. "I see. You wanted to know why Wufei hates Heero so much?"

Amazed she had grasped the situation so quickly, Quatre nodded eagerly. "He talked to me yesterday, Heero that is. He seemed really nice. He... he apologized for Duo's, um... For Duo," Quatre's voice dropped down into a small whisper, "hurting me."

Meiran's face softened, and for a brief moment Quatre thought she was going to lean over and hug him. "That's impressive. Heero's never said a word to me or Trowa."

"And he brought Duo a present. The nurses wouldn't let him have it, except those flowers," he pointed at the wilting bouquet sitting awkwardly in a little plastic cup on Duo's nightstand. "I don't think he's as bad as Wufei says. If he really didn't care for Duo then why would he bother visiting? I think he's like Trowa and is just hard to understand," Quatre colored hotly, embarrassed by his own daring.

Meiran smiled sadly. "You're very good at understanding people, so I'll trust your opinion more than Wufei's. Can you keep a secret?"

Quatre nodded eagerly. "I won't tell anyone."

"Wufei is jealous."

The small blonde frowned deeply, puzzling over her remark. "Why is he jealous of Heero?" He gasped suddenly, blue-green eyes going wide. "Does Wufei...?"

"Head over heels," Meiran confided, bright eyes betraying her love of gossip, but she still looked sad. She sighed melodramatically, "It would be romantic if it wasn't so tragic. Wufei will never tell Duo how he feels, even if Heero goes away, but he's still jealous of him. I think deep down, Wufei realizes that even if Heero wasn't a factor, and even if he--" Meiran suddenly caught herself, glancing to Quatre. "Anyway, Wufei knows that it's hopeless, but that doesn't change how he feels."

Quatre rested his head back against the wall. His mind raced, thinking of all his past conversations with Wufei. It made sense, in a way, except he never would have caught it on his own. "Does anyone...?"

The girl shook her head, pigtails wagging. "Not that I know of, at least, just me and Trieze. Well, I'm not sure about Trieze, actually..." She rolled her eyes, "He's impossible."

"Meiran, how do--" Quatre stopped, flushing a brilliant scarlet. For a brief second he had forgotten Meiran wasn't a real person, but just a personality, and had nearly asked how she knew.

But she just smiled, rising from the bed. "I know, because I'm in the same boat as Wufei. I understand how he feels," she said wistfully, looking at the small yellow flowers across the room. "Don't ever be afraid to tell someone you love them, Quatre. You'll be much happier for it."

-

-

Author's Notes:  
Hooray, another chapter! All I can say is WOW everyone, thank you so much! I was utterly amazed at the response to the last chapter, it blew me away! I seriously about cried, thank you so much everyone.

Well, I've had a long day and I'm still eager to write, so I'm keeping this brief. Oh! If you'd like to keep tabs on me (or poke me into writing faster... but be gentle, I bruise easily!) I have a new LJ account that's just for my author-ness. You don't have to be a member to read or comment. I'll post whenever I update 'fics, and sometimes post either teasers, drabbles, or just whatever I feel like. I miss having a webpage, so this is my cheap and easy replacement!

Please check my profile for the link. (its violetnyte dot livejournal dot com, but FFN hates me and I can't actually type the real link)

Until next time, everyone!  
(Also, I have a new AIM name that is reserved for author-poking, if you have AIM)

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte 2006  
Check my profile for a link to my webpage (LJ account with updates, exclusive material, etc!)


	19. New Arrival

LSE / 9-27-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Nineteen - New Arrival)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

New Arrival

-

"Wow, early for once," Duo commented as they filed in to Doctor Richard's office on Monday. "Sucks we're not going to be doing art today, I wonder why?"

Relena carefully finished arranging the last chair and stepped back to admire her work. "Doctor Richards is with the new boy," she explained, straightening her skirt around her as she sat.

"We have to do the meet and greet again?" Duo whined, flopping into one of the chairs with his usual abandon. Quatre sat next to him with Trieze on his other side.

"Relena!" Dorothy cried, sweeping into the room with urgency. "Have you seen the new boy? Isn't he amazing? I'm so excited he's going to be in our group. I call dibs."

Relena rolled her eyes as her friend sat next to her, "He's my cousin, so you can have him."

Dorothy, as well as the boys, gaped at her. "You know him?"

Duo leaned forward, "Spill, princess! What's going on?"

Relena sighed heavily, tucking a few stray locks behind one ear. She idly smoothed the fabric of her skirt over her thighs. "His mother is estranged from the family, so I haven't even seen him since I was four. Father told me about it the other day when he came to visit."

"What's wrong with him?" Duo asked eagerly, eyes bright with the idea of prospective gossip.

Relena shrugged and opened her mouth to answer, but quietly snapped it shut and sat up straighter when Doctor Richards entered followed by a tall, willowy boy with blonde hair longer than either of the girls. He wore a white baseball cap, a blue dress shirt, and khakis. Dorothy's cheeks turned a subtle pink as she openly checked him out.

Richards's eyes swept over the small group, "Looks like we're all here. Milliard, please take a seat." The boy sat in the open chair next to Trieze, looking at the five other teens with obvious distaste. Quatre flushed when the boy's cool blue eyes settled on Sandy.

Richards sat between Relena and Duo. "All right, then, let's get started. Duo, would you please start? Let's all go around and introduce ourselves."

"My name is Duo."

The doctor's eyes flicked between Duo and Quatre for a moment, clearly waiting for Duo to spout something flippant. Duo lifted his chin slightly in silent defiance, which only made the doctor more nervous. Watching Duo suspiciously, Richards nodded to Quatre, who mumbled his name quickly.

"Trieze," he said promptly, eyeing the new boy as one would the last slice of cheesecake.

"I'm Zechs."

Richards made a soft 'tsk' of reproach, "Milliard, please use your real name while you're with us."

"Fuck off."

Duo laughed loudly, unable to contain his glee. He started to say something and then, with a quick glance to the doctor, closed his mouth and slouched back in the chair. Even Relena, who normally was the most well-behaved of them all, stifled a small giggle.

The doctor's jaw tightened for a moment before he smiled, "I'll let that slide since this is your first day, Milliard, but for future reference that kind of behavior will not be tolerated, do you understand? Now, please, continue."

Smiling so that her dimple showed, Dorothy flipped some of her long hair back. "I am Dorothy Catalonia, pleased to meet you."

Relena lowered her head shyly, "I'm Relena Darlian." She glanced up quickly, peeking through her bangs to see his reaction. Milliard wasn't even looking at her, but was studying the bookcases across the room. The girl looked away, crestfallen.

"Excellent. I'm Doctor Richards, as you already know. Milliard, we're actually in the middle of an art project right now, but I thought with it being your first day that perhaps a more traditional meeting would break the ice a bit better. Does anyone have anything they would like to share with the group?"

Dorothy's hand shot into the air. Richards looked at her in surprise; normally, Dorothy spoke only when addressed during therapy and even then only the bare minimum required of her. When he nodded to her, Dorothy looked directly at Milliard and smiled again. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Dorothy, that isn't what I had in mind..."

"And what are--"

"Dorothy! That is quite enough. Does anyone have a real contribution? Duo, how are you?" Richards asked hesitantly, still watching Duo with suspicion.

"Um, well..."

"Any weird dreams lately?"

"No, not really."

"Wufei?"

"Trieze," the boy corrected in a bored voice. "I thought the food today was particularly foul. The gravy was obviously glue, and whatever mange-ridden beast they put to death to make it was better off becoming carrion. We are, unfortunately, a captive audience to their culinary disasters."

Relena let out a terrified scream, pulling her feet up into her chair.

"Horrifying, I know." Trieze deadpanned.

"Spider!" she wailed, an accusing finger pointing to the ground beneath Quatre's chair.

"Spider?" he repeated, quickly lifting his feet. Quatre peered under his chair and caught sight of the small little spider underneath.

Relena clung to Duo, who had all but flung himself across the circle, and squealed again when the little spider crept forward slightly. Richards sighed and went over to his desk, "Calm down, Relena. I'll get a tissue and kill it."

Dorothy brightened, "Can I do it, Doctor Richards?"

"No, don't kill it!"

Quatre looked over at the new boy in surprise, as they had both spoken at the same time. Milliard came over and knelt on the floor, placing his hand directly in front of the spider. Relena and Duo both gasped, leaning back as if they could be eaten any moment. After a long moment, Milliard stood up holding his hands cupped together.

The doctor sighed as he unlatched the window and pushed it open. "Put it out in the courtyard, Milliard."

"Make a run for it!" Duo cheered as Milliard approached the window. "His window leads to the outside world and your freedom!" When the doctor shot Duo an especially suspicious look, he quickly added, "Go, little spider. Go!"

Milliard unceremoniously leaned over the window ledge and emptied the arachnid out into the grass. Quatre stared at the sky. Had it always been that blue? He heart sank when Richards shut the window and firmly closed the drapes. Herding his patients back into their seats, the young doctor bravely tried to recover the rest of the therapy session, but no one cooperated. Duo behaved himself with minimal outbursts and none of his usual snide remarks, and Relena looked ready to cry every time Milliard ignored her.

Exasperated, Richards finally let them all go nearly fifteen minutes early, with the strong warning to not wander the halls. "Oh, Duo, can I see you for a moment?"

"Christ on toast," Duo muttered, "I behave myself and still get held back."

Quatre hesitantly followed Trieze down the hallway. "Do you want to play checkers?"

Trieze shook his head, gathering back inky strands into a single ponytail, and kept walking without a backward glance to Quatre. The small blonde frowned, waiting to see if the different hair meant a different personality. "Um, Trieze?" he asked finally, unable to tell by visual clues alone.

"No, no checkers," Trieze replied absently, patting Quatre on the shoulder without looking over at him. Dark eyes searched the common area when entered, and then the other boy finally looked over at him. "Ask Duo."

"But, he isn't..."

Trieze was already moving away, making a beeline to where Milliard sat in front of one of the televisions. Trieze sat down and said something that made the other boy laugh. "That little slut," Dorothy said as she and Relena came up on either side of Quatre. "That whore!"

"Who?" Quatre asked.

The girl gestured animatedly, "Trieze! He's such a man-whore! I called dibs already, this isn't fair."

"What?"

Relena set a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, "Don't worry; there's still a chance he isn't gay"The other girl snorted, "They're always gay."

Cheeks bright red, Quatre finally understood the situation. Over in the television nook, Trieze was leaning over with a hand on Milliard's thigh, obviously flirting. The girls moved away, but Quatre stood there waiting for Duo to get out of Doctor Richard's office. He only had to wait ten minutes or so before Duo came storming down the hallway, muttering under his breath in a near constant stream.

"Can you believe it!" Duo exploded when he caught up with Quatre. "He assigned me extra therapy. Extra! What the fuck! I didn't do a damn thing wrong. Right, Quatre?"

"Of course!" he nodded enthusiastically. "But--"

"Dickie must think I'm up to something. You know how depressed people suddenly start acting happy again right before they off themselves? He must have thought I'm doing that thing. He was doing his 'I might act like a bastard but now I'm going to act like I give a shit' routine, too, and that always pisses me off."

Duo started walking and Quatre quickly followed, "But Duo--"

"Oh I'm so going to let Heero have it when I call him..."

"Duo..." Quatre tried again, grabbing the boy's sleeve. Duo stopped walking, blinking owlishly at his roommate. "Um," Quatre stalled, suddenly struck shy.

"What is it?" Duo asked, brows drawn forward with concern. "Why are you all red? What happened? Do I need to kick someone's ass?"

"N-no," Quatre said quickly, stammering slightly with nervousness. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I, um, wanted to ask you something. If that's okay."

But Duo was gaping at something behind the smaller boy, mouth spreading into a wide grin as amazement turned into amusement. "That was fast, even for Trieze," he commented, gesturing slightly.

Quatre glanced over his shoulder to see Trieze still flirting with Milliard. "Oh, yeah. That."

Suddenly serious, Duo refocused his attention on his roommate. "What did you want to ask?"

"Um. Why... That is, I guess I was just curious about, um. I wanted to ask--" Quatre stammered, trying to figure out the least offensive way to pose his question.

Duo laughed slightly, "Why I'm acting like a good boy? Heero said he would absolutely visit this weekend if I behaved myself. Oh, which reminds me, when I call Heero on Friday can you tell him I've been good? I mean, if I have been," Duo said quickly, seeing the sudden involuntary panic that crossed Quatre's face. "I'm not asking you to lie. Heero said he would believe it if you told him."

"Why me?" Quatre asked, frowning. "Why not the doctors?"

"I doubt I could get one of them to do it. You don't have to. Let's see..." Duo said, looking up at the board posted next to the nurse's station. "I only need five points to make a phone call. I'll start crying and tell G some heartbreaking story about my parents never hugging me as a child and how that effects my inner psyche or something; I bet he'll give me a couple of points."

Quatre was amazed to see he had managed to collect seven points despite less than stellar participation in therapy. "So I can call someone if I want to?"

His roommate nodded, "The pay phones operate on tokens instead of coins, but if you ask one of the nurses they can give you one. No calls past eight, though. Oh, and don't try to order pizza. I already tried and they won't deliver it, the bastards."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night at dinner, Quatre was quietly poking at the limp, strangled vegetables from the roast beef when Duo suddenly fell silent. It took him a few moments to realize the steady stream on one-sided conversation had stopped, but when he looked up Duo had his head down, intently shoveling food into mouth. Before Quatre could ask, however, Meiran slammed her tray down on the table next to Duo and crashed into her seat. She stabbed at the food on her plate, hands shaking with fury, "I'm going to kill him."

"Thash--" Duo swallowed, voice coming out meek, "that's a bit extreme."

"Still. Killing him. You can't stop me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Duo assured her, looking relieved as he went back to eating. Neither of them spoke for a long time, before Duo finally pushed his plate away and stood. "But if you kill him, you'll have to be prepared to take the consequences. I'm pretty sure they'd keep you in the quiet room until you turned eighteen, and then ship you off to some dungeon upstate. Oh, unless you went straight to jail."

Meiran laughed, and there was a slight hysterical edge to it. Dark eyes danced with a wildness that shocked Quatre and, from the look on his face and the sudden half-step back, threw even Duo.

"Just. You know, saying," Duo finished lamely, looking to Quatre for help.

"Yeah. I know," Meiran muttered. "I'm not hungry," she declared, snatching up her tray as she stormed out of the cafeteria.

Two pairs of eyes followed her with different looks, teal concerned and amethyst amused, before looking at each other. Quatre spoke first, "What was that all about?"

Duo shrugged, "I think she meant Trieze. Or Wufei. Don't worry, Meiran's pretty harmless. She'll calm down here in a little while. Can I have your roll?"

-

-

Author's Notes: Hn. Sorry this took so long, everyone. Midterms are approaching, and my two night classes have started. In short, I'm terribly busy and really haven't had the time to write. Good news is that I've got some handwritten material for the next chapter already.

Anyway. I'm pretty tired, so I don't have much to say.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte check my profile for contact info


	20. A Token Kindness

LSE / 10-06-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty - A Token Kindness)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

A Token Kindness

-

Quatre shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for the nurse to finish writing something on his chart. Looking up with a bright, cheery smile, she placed a small copper token on the counter. "Here you are."

Mumbling a thanks, he pocketed the coin. "Can I have a phone book?"

The nurse gave him a surprised look, but handed over the thick book without comment. Quatre flipped through it, staring at the listings when he couldn't find the one he wanted. He quietly set the phonebook back on the counter and left, clutching the token in his pocket.

In one of the corner areas of the common room, Trieze and Zechs played chess. Meiran clearly had yet to carry out her threat on either boy, but resolutely gave Zechs the cold shoulder whenever he was around. Duo had explained she always acted that way whenever Trieze picked up a new conquest, as he called it. Quatre had no desire to interrupt the two of them, so he headed for his room hoping to find Duo.

His roommate was sprawled across his bed, possibly napping since his eyes were closed. Loose from its usual braid, the boy's long chestnut hair fell in crinkly waves over the edge of the bed. Moving very quietly so as not to wake his roommate, Quatre perched on the edge of his own bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer. Shoved in the very back was a small envelope, and with a sideways glance to check on Duo, Quatre took it out.

Originally, Quatre had kept it in Sandy's box, but not long after moving in had he switched hiding places. Back at the clinic, his hiding place had been the top shelf of his closet. He flipped the envelope over but didn't open it. The original seal was broken, but a small piece of tape held the flap down. When Duo shifted, his hands clenched with sudden panic. Quickly, he threw the envelope back into the drawer.

"Hey," Duo called without opening his eyes. Long limbs stretched as he yawned.

"Did I wake you, I'm sorry." Quatre managed over the pounding in his ears.

One violet eye cracked open, "I wasn't sleeping, honest. God, I'm bored. I wish Wufei was around so I could pick on him. He's so cute when he's mad. Trieze is no fun at all, and Meiran's too much of a badass. And of course, you're too adorable."

Relieved Duo really had been sleeping, Quatre just nodded absently. He picked at a loose thread on his blanket. "Still no sign of Wufei?"

Flopping a hand over the side of the bed, Duo sighed dramatically. "Trieze is like that. Sometimes he just goes away for a few days. It's just not like Wufei to hide, though... usually he just gives me the cold shoulder if I piss him off. Then again, he sure can hold a grudge."

The thread ripped out some of the stitching when he plucked it out, and Quatre hastily smoothed out the fabric to hide it. He glanced over to his roommate, "I don't think he's that mad at you. And it's only been--"

"Five days," Duo interrupted with emphasis. He gestured randomly, "And Meiran said he hasn't been in therapy or anything. What if he went away, for good? Can that happen?" Duo sat up, looking mildly horrified at the idea. "Holy shit, do you think it could? I mean, maybe he was just another alternate personality or, like, he just.. poof! Does this mean I killed Wufei? Fuck."

Duo ran a hand through his hair before leaning over and searching through his nightstand. Whatever he was looking for he couldn't find, and after a moment he just gave up and kept combing at the tangles with his fingers. "If you think about it, I bet it's possible. ...Nah, I bet he's just pissed."

Despite the words, Quatre could hear the worry and doubt in Duo's voice. He searched for some sort of reassurance. "I don't think Wufei went away forever. Maybe Meiran just doesn't remember, I mean," Quatre frowned, fumbling over how to explain what he was thinking. He took a deep, calming breath before continuing. "Maybe Wufei's been... out and just not told anyone. Like... he stays in the library."

"Or only comes out at night, like a vampire." Duo paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Actually, that'd be pretty cool. Wufei the blood-sucking creature that stalks the halls at night, terrorizing crazies and sane people alike! And maybe at night Trowa becomes--"

Duo cut himself off abruptly, mouth closing shut with a guilty look over to Quatre. The younger boy shrugged slightly to let Duo know everything was okay. Quatre lifted his head, suddenly struck with inspiration. "By the way. Um. Trowa's last name is Barton, right?"

Duo stopped playing with his hair and grinned, "Yeah. Why?"

He hesitated slightly, "I couldn't find him in the phonebook. I mean, none of the Bartons in the phonebook were a Catherine or even a C, and he lives with his sister, right?"

"You were going to call him?" Duo made a soft 'aww' sort of sound, and then laughed at the immediate shade of bright pink Quatre turned. "He's not the best conversationalist, you know. It's almost a waste of a call token if you think about it." When Quatre's cheeks turned a sort of tomato color, Duo dropped his teasing tone. "Maybe she's unlisted, or they live outside the city. I'm originally from an entirely different state."

"Oh," Quatre said, crestfallen. "I thought since she came here twice a week they lived close..."

Duo's face crinkled up in thought, eyes bright with the gleam of curiosity. "Maybe she has a different last name. Do you think she could be married? She is rather attractive, and I think she's like three or four years older than Trowa. I can't remember if she wears a wedding ring or not. Think, Duo..."

"She isn't married."

Duo looked over at him with a twinge of confusion, "Oh? No ring?"

"Trowa told me," Quatre answered without thinking. Panic flared and he quickly stumbled over himself trying to clarify, "I mean, I asked. And Trowa shook his head."

Fortunately, Duo seemed to buy it without question. "Oh, right. Hm, then it's a mystery. You could try asking Wufei since they had the same therapist for individual. Or Meiran I guess, since Wufei's all M.I.A. and everything. Oh, and Trieze is a huge gossip, but he rarely gives any information when you want it. He's the one who found out about--"

Silence, and another guilty look to Quatre. Curiosity got the better of him, and Quatre cautiously asked, "About what?"

"Oh, um, you know," Duo looked absolutely flustered. He lowered his head, nimble fingers starting to work his long hair into its usual braid. "Trowa's ah, attempt. It's not like he told us. We can't all be open books, I guess. Wufei's even worse, getting anything out of him is like squeezing milk from a coconut. Gah, I miss Wufei."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trailing behind Duo in the cafeteria, Quatre struggled to balance the glass of water on his tray. In front of him, Duo hummed a cheery tune as he walked. At their usual table, Trieze already sat with Zechs at his side. The two stopped talking when Duo and Quatre approached. Trieze's dark eyes watched them critically. Quatre was starting to be able to tell the different personality's apart without relying on the glasses and hair tricks. At the moment, Trieze wore his hair just like Wufei always did, in a single stiff ponytail.

Duo sat down with a bit more force than necessary, glaring at Zechs. Although Zechs had done nothing to Duo, Quatre knew his roommate disliked the new boy. He figured Meiran's reaction had to be the reason. That, or Duo resented Zechs replacing him as the trouble-maker in therapy.

"So, Milliard," Duo said lightly, stabbing violently into his mashed potatoes. "That's a fancy name. Is your family loaded like Relena's?" The tone only thinly veiled his sarcasm.

"I go by Zechs," the boy answered. "Is Relena that high-strung nut-job, or the pink-cardigan prissy blonde?"

Trieze froze, eyes darting between Zechs and Duo, but rather than taking offense, Duo merely grinned. "She's your cousin, you tell me."

By the sudden setting of Zech's shoulders and suspicious look, Quatre could tell he honestly hadn't known. Duo's grin spread wider, "Oh, you didn't know? She said you were on the black sheep side of the family. What'd you mom do, run away with some--"

Mashed potato splattered over Duo's face. Quatre gasped, but Duo quickly retaliated by flinging his roll across the table. It bounced off Trieze's face and landed in his jello. Trieze looked down at the roll, frowning. "You have ruined my jello."

Cool blue eyes glared furiously at Duo, and Quatre feared they would escalate into throwing heavier things. Duo, however, had an odd look on his face beneath the potato. Wiping his face clean, Duo started to laugh. Zechs's mouth twitched before he joined in.

Trieze gingerly plucked the roll out of his jello and placed it back on Duo's plate. "Are you two done throwing food around? I just washed this shirt, you know."

Duo cleaned the last of the mashed potato off his face, still chuckling. "You really didn't know Relena and you were related?" he asked, always eager for gossip.

Zechs hesitated before shaking his head. "I've probably never met her before. That'd certainly explain why she and that other girl keep bothering me."

A slow look of incredulity spread over Duo's face. "How amazing is it that you both end up here? So, I know Relena's loaded, does that mean she can afford better? Or are they tragically short on money but desperately keeping up appearances? Has she been cut off? Is this place her last hope, a punishment?" His brows drew in as Duo suddenly looked very determined. "I was hoping as her relative you'd know."

"How do you know she's rich?" Trieze asked.

"She acts like, I mean besides her OCD 'Oh, My God, my shoes have to match my purse and preferably in some pastel color' thing. Plus she wears designer labels, and I've seen her dad wearing Armani suits. Oh, and she has a set of pearls. I'm waiting for someone to steal them."

Trieze and Zechs gave Duo identical looks of disbelief, but Quatre, use to Duo randomly knowing everything about everyone, remained unruffled. In his opinion, Duo probably knew about the patients than the doctors. He silently ate his dinner, glad everyone seemed to be getting along.

"What'd you do, look through her dresser?" Zechs asked.

"Duh, no. Just because you're an unobservant newbie doesn't mean we all are." Duo gestured grandly, "I happen to have been here longer than all of you, so it's only fitting I know everything. You may call be Duo the omnipotent."

"All right, Duo the obnoxious, What's the head nurse's first name?" Trieze challenged, leaning back in his chair and pushing his empty tray away.

"Rebecca."

"The librarian is also a nurse, true or false?"

"True, but she's an LPN and studying for her RN exam."

"Damn!" Trieze struggled to think up another question. He leaned forward, palms spread on the tabletop. "What is the name of the pretty nurse with red hair?"

"Trick question, none of the nurses have red hair."

"Fuck you! Adrianne's hair is clearly strawberry-blonde."

"Uh, hello, no, it's obviously not, and her name is AdriannA, not Adrianne," Duo smirked. He glanced to Quatre and then back to Trieze. "All right, let's see... What is the last name of Trowa's sister?"

Looking triumphant, Trieze lifted in his chin in a haughty manner. "It's Bloom, duh. I bet you thought it was Barton and just wanted to trick me, how lame."

"Yup, you got me," Duo admitted, grinning.

Quatre had to duck his head and hide beneath his bangs to hide his smile. Under the table, he gave Duo's foot a brief nudge to show his thanks. "I'm done," he said, standing.

"Can I have your jello?" Trieze asked immediately, already reaching for the bowl.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

After their brief food fight, Duo quickly started including Zechs in their group, much to Meiran's initial dismay. She sat next to Quatre, which he liked, but Trieze always sat next to Zechs, putting Quatre at the outside of the group. On Friday morning, Meiran betted Duo a week's worth of dessert that 'it won't last two weeks.' That seemed to be her unofficial acquiescence to Zech's presence.

Quatre couldn't decide if he liked Zechs or not, however, and felt a little disappointed Meiran gave in so quickly. Not that Zechs was mean to him... Actually, Zechs hardly even looked at him, much less talked to him. With Trowa gone, Quatre felt like an outside sometimes with his friends.

Whenever they were alone, Duo nearly always brought up Wufei's absence. Quatre had long given up trying to reassure his roommate sine he, too, was concerned. Quatre noticed how distracted Meiran seemed all the time, which Duo chalked up to Zechs. He wasn't going to be the one to mention that to Duo, however.

After that dinner that night, Duo clapped Quatre on the shoulder with one hand and held up a phone token with the other. "You ready to give Heero your official Quatre-rating of my behavior?" he asked with a grin, steering Quatre toward the phone nook.

"I'm going to say you've been really, really good!" Quatre replied, beaming at his roommate.

Duo nodded seriously, "Yes, yes. And have you called our elusive Ms. Bloom yet? I checked the phonebook and she's in there, so that's not an excuse you can use."

He blushed, looking askance. "No one answered. I don't have enough points to get another token yet."

Duo stopped walking, fixing his roommate with one of the most serious looks Quatre had even seen on his face. He smiled softly and held out his hand, the small coin in the center of it. "Here, take mine."

Quatre shook his head, "No, I couldn't."

"Psh, whatever. Take it."

"If you don't call Heero..."

Duo shrugged, "He'll get over it. It's about time I stand him up for once, you know?" Leaning forward, Duo dropped the coin into Quatre's shirt pocket. "Good luck! Say hi to Trowa for me."

-

-

Author's Notes: Whew. I've been doing nothing but typing for the past five hours and goodness are my hands tired. I typed up all 13 of my hand-written pages, only a fraction of which is this chapter. The next chapter is up in the air right now, as I haven't quite decided where to go with a few things. I'm on Fall Break (WOOHOO!) which means a few days rest from my hectic schedule. Of course, I do have midterms I should be studying for, but fic is so much more interesting that Muscovite Russia and all those damn Sviastopolks and Iaroslavs and Shuiskii and (oh my god I'm never going to remember how to spell them!) ...

Ahem. Anyway, a few comments and then I'm out of here.

Everyone - OMG thank you for the wonderful, wonderful comments I'm receiving, you guys are the best Thank you so much. I especially like it when you ask questions and make speculations because that gives me an idea of what points I need to emphasis and how the story's coming across.  
Oh, and because I'm evil and I like seeing you squirm.  
Be glad this story is as riddled with cliff-hangers as Last Chance was. (Remember, Tia? Oh, torturing Kate was so fun.)  
...loooove youuu...

Cat, about Milliard versus Milliardo. I've always used Milliard because I think it sounds better, and I never watched the dub to hear differently. Plus I read an essay when I first got into the fandom arguing for it. So that's why.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte  
check my profile for contact info


	21. Appearances

LSE / 10-09-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty One - Appearances)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Appearances

-

Trowa had his favorite game show on mute when the phone started to ring. He glanced over to the side table where the cordless phone was, and then back to his television show. On the sixth ring, Catherine came hurrying out of her bedroom wrapped only in a bath towel and dripping wet. "Trowa, why don't you--" she started to scold, but stopped quickly and snatched the phone off the table. "Hello?"

He looked over at his sister, curious, as she just stood there with a stunned look on her face. Catherine's cheeks heated pink, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Who put you up to this?"

Trowa ignored his television show, now engulfed with curiosity. If he could, Trowa half-imagined himself snatching the phone away and yelling at whoever could be tormenting his sister. Her eyes suddenly flew to his face, searching for something, before she nestled the phone against her shoulder. "Trowa, is there any reason someone would call you?"

Bewildered, he shook his head at her. Catherine smiled, pleased, and left the room with the phone. Disappointed that seemed to be the end of it, Trowa went back to his show. It wasn't long before Catherine came back into the room. She set the phone back on the table and sat down on the couch next to him, still in her towel.

Wait a minute. Had the person on the phone been asking for him? Trowa tried to think of anyone who would call him. The last time he lived with Catherine had been seven months ago, but only for a few weeks. Maybe it had been someone from his old job unloading boxes in a warehouse. He liked washing dishes better anyway.

"Trowa, why do you watch television without the sound on? You can't hear what they're saying."

They keep the volume on the TVs low at the hospital. I just got use to it.

Catherine waited politely for an answer that never came. She patted his knee before standing. "After I get dressed, do you want to go see a movie? Check out the listings in the paper and see if there's anything showing you want to see," she offered, hitching the towel up higher around her chest.

Instead of looking in the paper, Trowa changed channels over to the weather report. Was there anyone else who would call him? The question still bothered him. Probably just some telemarketer. That would be his sister, always protecting him.

Except against--

Trowa changed the channel, flipping through until he found a Spanish soap opera. Catherine had extended cable, unlike the hospital, and he actually was starting to develop an addiction to them. The soap operas were nearly as entertaining as his game shows. One of the actresses reminded him of his sister, except she was the villain of the show. He always felt a little guilty for comparing the two

When Catherine came back into the room, she picked up the untouched newspaper and lightly swatted him across the shoulders with it. "Nothing good showing?" she asked, smiling.

She stood between him and the television, and Trowa missed getting to see who the villain-actress had been sleeping with. Disappointed, he tried to lean his head to one side, but only saw the far edge of the screen that way. His sister tapped him with the newspaper again, "C'mon! I'm offering you a free movie. You like movies right? The theater isn't going to mute it, you know."

The phone rang, and Catherine held out the paper until he reluctantly took it. Flipping through the pages until he came to the movie listings, Trowa scanned the titles but they meant nothing to him. Any movie would be fine. He didn't even want to see a movie. Maybe Catherine already had one in mind and just didn't want to leave him alone.

He looked up, suddenly aware that Catherine had answered the phone and then not said anything else. Her stunned expression worried him. Was it bad news? Had... he died?

Lips pressed into a thin line, Catherine held the phone out to him. "Listen to this and tell me if you know this person."

Trowa took the phone, bewildered. A stalker?

"Trowa? Trowa? Blow once if you're there. Excellent! This is Duo. Listen, your sister scared the crap out of Quatre. Can you let her know everything's cool and we're really on the up and up over here? Just like, nod to her, or work your mute mumbo-jumbo somehow. Hell, maybe at her place you're a regular chatty Cathy. Or is that chatty to Cathy, I dunno..."

"Who is it?" Catherine demanded, growing impatient when Trowa just sat there holding the phone. He slowly looked over at her and nodded once. It didn't work, as she just snatched the phone back. "Listen, I don't know what you think you're doing call here, but--"

He caught her hand, getting a startled look in return. Words bubbled inside him, but he couldn't get them out. He couldn't. Something churned in his stomach, some emotion he couldn't place, but it was a desperate sensation and he knew that he just had to get that phone back from her. It was Quatre, and Duo. His friends.

I don't have--

Catherine must have seen something in his face, because her face softened into a confused but genuine smile. "I'm sorry, I thought it had to be a prank," she explained, surrendering the phone to him.

Trowa blew softly into the phone. He felt like a moron. For the first time in his entire life, he felt like the biggest idiot in the entire universe. It was jus words, what was he afraid of? Why couldn't he just say hello...

"Oh, fantastic, you're back. Catherine sounded pissed, you guys cool now? I assume you are since I don't hear her screaming or anything. Right-o, Quatre, I'm getting to it. Hey, it's my token, right? ...Shut up, Meiran, don't get technical!"

Had they all called him?

Did they... care that much?

"Anyway, remember, its across the street not down--"

In the background, Trowa could clearly hear Meiran berating Duo, and he heard the soft sounds of shuffling before Quatre's soft voice drifted over the phone to him. "Hello, Trowa?"

Almost without thinking, Trowa nearly answered. He griped the phone tightly, a sudden longing filling him. I miss you, he wanted to tell Quatre. He wanted to tell Quatre... so many things. He wanted to ask so many things. Are they treating you well? Are you okay? Is everything going okay between you and Duo?

He remembered the last time he'd seen the other boy, pale and bandaged. So hurt, so lost. Trowa longed to comfort him, to protect him.

"I'm sorry I upset your sister. I... just wanted to say hello to you. And, well, I guess it is kind of silly, but..."

"Hey, Tro! Duo here. Listen, Meiran wants--"

"Gimme that, don't talk his ear off. It's my token, dammit, I want to say something to him. We're not interrupting anything, are we? Good. So, I just wanted to say that if you're going to--"

Trowa plainly heard Quatre trying to get the phone back, and smiled to himself imagining the three of them squabbling. Catherine gone into the kitchen to ostentatiously give him privacy, but he could plainly tell she was hovering just beyond the door eavesdropping. Every so often, the door would brush open a crack before closing again. Did she think he was suddenly going to break into conversation?

"--okay? Here's Duo."

"Tro! So, I was wondering, is Catherine popular with the men? What? Quatre, it's a perfectly legitimate question. She's an attractive young woman -- no worries, Tro, she's like a sister to me, too -- and for all we know Trowa might be having to beat them off her with a stick. Try a tire iron, Tro, much more effective. Okay, okay, here, stop giving me the puppy eyes and take the damn phone."

"Thanks, Duo. ..." Quatre waited, and Trowa bet his friend was waiting for Duo to move further away. "Hi," he said shyly.

Guiltily, Trowa glanced over to the kitchen door. If Catherine wasn't listening, would he say hello back? Even though every fiber of him wanted to resist, whenever it was Quatre...

"I thought about what I was going to say, but now I've forgotten. Isn't that funny? I guess you don't get many phone calls, do you? Um. I'm glad I could talk to you. I've missed you a lot, Trowa. I... I mean, I didn't get to say goodbye when you left. I just woke up and you were gone," the words seemed to tumble one after another, cutting accusations into Trowa in the soft, harmless way only Quatre could.

"I'm happy for you, Trowa. I'm glad you could go home to be with your sister, she seems nice. Is she nice to you? I hope she is. I really hope you're happy. Please, Trowa, if you're happy... Then I'll try to be happy too, and not miss you so much. I... I really liked getting to know you, Trowa. I..."

Quatre paused.

"I really liked getting to know you," he repeated. "Thank you for being so nice to me. ...I guess that's everything I wanted to say."

Please, don't go.

"So... I guess... Um, yeah."

Please, don't leave me.

"Take care of yourself, Trowa. Maybe... Maybe when I get out of here we can, um, I'll buy you dinner. Yeah. I promise I'll buy you dinner, somewhere nice. Okay. Um, take care. Trowa, I... I like you."

"Okay. Um. 'bye."

Quatre waited before hanging up, Trowa could tell. He waited for him to say something back.

It hurts...

Trowa hurled the phone away from him, sending it clattering across the coffee table, scattering pens and books to the floor. Catherine came out of the kitchen, ready to sweep in and protect him, but Trowa left without looking at her. He resisted slamming his door shut.

Sinking on to his bed, Trowa buried his head into his hands.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I just...

"Trowa?" his sister called, knocking hesitantly on his door. "Trowa? Did, did you still want to see a movie? My treat..."

"Trowa?"

Always waiting. Always waiting for him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quatre scrubbed sleep from his eyes, yawning as he slid his tray along the cafeteria line. He'd been up half the night with nightmares, and for once Quatre felt relieved Duo was still sleeping in another room. No one sat at their usual table, making him the first for a change. He sat and started to eat, keeping an eye out for his friends. He saw Zechs go through the breakfast line, but the tall blonde went to sit across the cafeteria next to Relena, who immediately turned various shades of pinks as Zechs began talking with her.

Before long, Duo clattered down next to him, clapping Quatre across the shoulder as he did so. "What's up, early bird? Enjoying your worm? Delicious array of food today, isn't it? Or, as Trieze would say, a butchery of gourmet bourgeoisie fancy-fancy words. Bastard, acts like no one else has read a thesaurus. I've caught him at it, you know. Egotistic maniac."

Quatre smiled shyly in return. Duo rambled on between bites, but fell quiet when Quatre suddenly nudged him in the side. The small blonde gestured, "There's Trieze now."

Duo tilted his head to one side quizzically, watching the Chinese boy maneuver through the cafeteria. He suddenly broke into a grin, "It's Wufei!"

"What? How can you tell...?"

But Duo was out of his seat and already moving to intercept him, nearly knocking Wufei's tray to the ground as he grabbed the boy up into a hug. Wufei fought him off, complaining loudly. When the two made it back to the table, Duo practically bounced with excitement as he took his seat again. "Wufei! Wufei, Wufei, Wufei. Angry-looking Wufei, ready to kick my ass, hey, it's Wufei!" he sang.

"Maxwell, stop acting like a lunatic," Wufei barked, brow twitching down in annoyance. The boy wore his hair neatly slicked back and tied into a single dark bundle, but no glasses. By the way Wufei squinted slightly, Quatre could tell he needed them.

"So what are you dressed up so fancy for?" Duo asked, calming down out of his euphoria. "Job interview?"

"Ha, ha, Maxwell," Wufei muttered. A crisp white dress shirt, black slacks, and --Quatre peeked under the table-- black dress shoes made up the boy's outfit. "It's none of your business."

"Making your escape out into that great, big world? Hm, no one's going to ever know you're a loony, but I think your disguise might not fool the nurses."

"Can't you ever just be serious for three seconds!" Wufei stood, looming over the table at them both. Duo went quiet, a shocked look on his face. Scowling deeply, Wufei snatched up his untouched tray and stormed off.

Instead of some snide remark or joke, Duo just poked at his food, clear hurt across his face. The boy's shoulders slumped and Quatre scrambled for some reassurance. "Um... What, what do you think Wufei is dressed up for?" Quatre asked, trying to appeal to Duo's sense of gossip.

His roommate just shrugged. Quatre leaned into him slightly, nudging Duo with his shoulder. "Maybe someone's coming to visit him," he suggested, giving Duo a slight smile.

Duo returned it, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "You're cute."

-

-

Author's Notes: Wow, another chapter so soon! I'm really on a roll here. It's only one o'clock and I've got at least another three hours before Ian comes home. I wonder how much I can get written? Ahh... no work, no school... Fall Break is wonderful! Too bad it's so short...

shevaleon - oh, no, that's not what I meant at all! I'm loving Russian History. The midterm covers Kievan Rus up through Muscovite Russia and the Time of Troubles. I'm right at that 15-17th century 'WTF!' you were talking about. You know it has to be interesting when the cover of the book has a guy carrying a decapitated head, ne?

Duo's line "Anyway, remember, its across the street not down--" is a bit of a joke if you get the reference. Did you get the reference?  
(I'm aware he botches the correct line, that's the joke. The correct line is 'Down the street, not across the road' and it's certainly a bit of black humor. I won't explain it here, but if you need me to let me know

CORRECTION:  
I don't think anyone got it. I shouldn't make way-obscure jokes anymore.  
The line is, "Remember kids, Rippy the Razor Blade says 'Go down the street, not across the road'" as instructions for correct wrist-slashing.

morbid, ne?  
Duo was fucking up the advice to Trowa, the assumption being on purpose.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte check my profile for contact info


	22. Wufei Part One

LSE // 11-21-06  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Two - Wufei Part One)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Wufei (Part One)  
-

When Duo and Quatre left the cafeteria, they found Wufei sitting rigidly in the common area, foot bouncing with tell-tale nervousness. Duo hesitated before marching right up to Wufei and crossing his arms over his chest like a scolding parent. "What's with the hissy fit, Wuffers?"

Quatre hovered behind Duo, using his roommate as a shield between him and Wufei, who glared up with a furious look at the nickname. Duo kicked his foot against Wufei's. "C'mon, you're acting like Dorothy on the rag or something. Did I really fucking piss you off that much? Because I think a week's worth of silent treatment is more than enough punishment without you coming back all snippy and acting like a total bastard. Think of Quatre, he hasn't seen you in a week and you barely even look at him."

"N-no, that's..." Quatre stammered out in protest, but Duo held up a commanding hand.

"My apologies, Quatre, I didn't mean to drag you into this. Wufei here has his panties in a knot about something, and I fiendishly hoped to use your irrestistable cuteness against him, but--"

"What do you want, Maxwell?" Wufei scowled, but without any anger behind it. "I'm doing something important."

"Sitting? Pissing people off? Acting like the biggest prick this side of Trieze's ego? What the hell's wrong with you?" Duo demanded.

"Nothing," Wufei insisted, standing so that Duo no longer loomed over him. "Nothing is wrong with me, Maxwell. If you want to throw yourself into a psychopath's arms, go ahead, but--"

"Leave Heero out of this. What's with you? You know we haven't seen you in a week, Wufei. I can't believe I was fucking worried about you!"

Wufei hesitated, dark eyes flicking between Duo and Quatre for a moment. He nervously ran a hand back over his hair. "Leave me alone, Maxwell."

"Not until you apologize."

"Fine. I'm sorry."

Duo reminded Quatre of a goldfish at the moment, mouth opening and closing as he clearly struggled to come up with a proper retort. Wufei suddenly rose from his chair and started smoothing his clothes and hair.

"What? That's it, we're done? I wanted to yell at you some more, jerk. How dare you just apologize and ruin my righteous anger!"

"You can yell at me later," Wufei told him, walking away.

Duo turned to watch Wufei leave and let out a low whistle, "She's here to visit Wufei?" He asked, amazed. A tall woman with short, dark hair with sweeping bangs that framed a pleasant face was walking toward Wufei. Quatre estimated the woman to be in her early thirties, but make up always threw him off despite his sisters best efforts otherwise. She wore navy slacks with a cream-colored blouse and a tailored jacket.

"Do you think they're related?" Quatre asked, even though besides the dark hair the two had nothing in common.

"I didn't think Wufei had family. I thought he was spawned from some primordial ooze like..." Duo paused, clearly losing track of his metaphor when the woman offered her hand out to Wufei to shake. "That's it, I'm curious, and damn Wufei isn't going to spill the beans. It's our only chance, Quatre! I'm counting on you," Duo gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up before hurrying to get within eavesdropping range, or so Quatre assumed.

Instead, Duo walked right up to the two of them, with Quatre trailing back behind him. Wufei gave Duo a murderous glare, but the woman just smiled. "May I help you with something?" she asked, and Quatre recognized the 'I'm talking to a crazy person tone.' His sister Meredith always used it.

Duo feigned remarkable innocence. "Wufei, aren't we going to play checkers? I got the board all set up."

A nerve jumped along Wufei's jaw as he clearly fought the impulse to react. Instead, he just shook his head at Duo. The woman smiled again in the same passifing way. "Oh, Wufei, are these friends of yours?"

"Yes," Duo replied, just as Wufei started to answer otherwise. With a glance up to the woman, he fell silent. Duo gestured towad the small blonde behind him, "I'm Duo, and this is Quatre."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ms. Noin," The woman flicked her wrist up to check the time. "Wufei, we need to be leaving. Do you have everything?"

A brief panic crossed the boy's face. "Was I suppose to pack?"

"No, no. I just didn't know if you wanted to bring anything to read, like a book, in case we have to wait. Don't worry, Wufei, I'm sure everything will go smoothly. As long as we're on time," she chided lightly, still smiling. "It was nice to meet you, Duo and Quatre. I'll bring Wufei back to you shortly."

Wufei looked oddly relieved at her words and didn't look at either Duo or Quatre as he filed after the woman like an obedient sheep. Stark disbelief sketched across Duo's face before his brows drew down with sudden fury. Whirling around, the older boy stormed off in the direct of his and Quatre's room without a glance to his roommate. Pausing only long enough to see Wufei disappear through a doorway, accompanied by that woman, Quatre scurried after his friend. A half-step behind Duo, Quatre followes him all the way back to their room without saying anything. He hovered anxiously behind Duo, and when the older boy came to a sudden stop, so did Quatre.

"Quatre"

He froze, breath hitching in his throat. Duo stepped aside, revealing the towering figure of his father. Quatre stayed just outside the room, rooted in place with his fear.

His father turned his attention to Duo. "You'll excuse us. I want to speak with my son."

With dark circles under his eyes and his anger at Wufei splashed across his face, Duo looked the epitome of lunacy, and Father's voice reflected it. Quatre lowered his gaze to floor, ignoring Duo's fleeting attempts to catch his eye. Father didn't make requests; he gave orders. Duo had to leave. Quatre held Sandy close. Reluctantly, Duo moved out of the room, his fingers brushing the back of the small blonde's hand as he passed.

Stepping forward, Father took hold of the doorknob. "Come inside, Quatre." He closed the door once his son had done so. "Your doctors told me you've failed to make any progress. I thought we had an agreement, Quatre. You were supposed to be cooperative this time."

Feeling the weight of his father's eyes, Quatre kept his head down. He grip on his bear tightened further, but that only betrayed Sandy. Father reached for him. Quatre's back hit the door as he jerked back, fingers digging into the plush fur convulsively.

Mr. Winner remained where he was, however, just beyond reach. He left his arm fall. "Quatre, you also agreed to give that up."

I'd rather die.

Quatre said nothing. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

The silence held until his father cleared his throat. "I see this is a waste of my time, and my money. Your doctors," this time, Quatre heard the scorn in his father's voice, "tell me it's too to make any judgement. That being the case, I'll expect you to have fulfilled your end of the bargain next time I see you."

Quatre stepped aside, quickly, when the man advanced. His knees hit the end of his bed and he saw, fine strands of gold sweeping over his face. He dared to peak out between his bangs, only to see Father standing in the doorway. Their eyes met. Aquamarine dropped first, seeking solace in the tiny folds and wrinkles of the bedding.

"Your hair is getting long. Have it cut."

The door closed, leaving Quatre alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quatre was sitting by himself watching television when he saw Wufei return, just after dinner. Wufei first went to the cafeteria but, finding it shut down, went straight to his room. Quatre followed him, discreetly, before going to find Duo. They'd barely said two sentences to each other since that morning, each involved with their own private thoughts. Quatre half feared Duo had held on to some distant hope Heero would show, but couldn't bring himself to ask. A flutter of worry trickled across his chest when Duo wasn't in their room.

He searched the common rooms first, but without any luck. Only after he checked the bathrooms and showers in both of the boy's wings did Quatre head for Wufei's room. The murals along Wufei's hall looked older than the one's over by his room. One of them depicted a smiling rainbow of children beneath a giant heart. Some daring patient had taken a marker to the picture, leaving behind an assortment of symbols and a few vulgarities. Quatre suspected it had been that way for a while, given that some of the graffiti was faded.

The door to Wufei's room was closed, but before Quatre could knock it suddenly jerked open. Duo, face dark with rage, glared down at him. "Oh," Duo said slowly, "the mouse is out of his house."

"Maxwell," Wufei's voice lifted up into a warning.

"You can shut up!" Duo turned, advancing on Wufei. "I don't need you telling me what to do, or what to say, or who to love! I've had it with you going around acting like the fucking boss, like you have your life together and we're all just crazies. News flash, Waffles! You're in the nuthouse too!"

Quatre was suddenly thought of cats and their curiosity.

Wufei lifted his chin, holding his ground against Duo's looming height. Although not tall, anger seemed to make Duo tower of both of his shorter friends. "You know nothing about me, Maxwell, so please save your self-righteous speech. I said you could yell at me later, not act like a raving lunatic." Turning his attention to Quatre, Wufei gestured. "Close the door, Winner, before someone hears Maxwell's hissy fit."

Duo visibly bit back his first response. Quatre closed the door and leaned against it, biting on Sandy's ear until his ears rang. He unclenched his jaw. "Um…" He stammered. Both boys swiveled their heads in his direction. He successfully resisted the urge to flee. "Wh-what's wrong?"

They spoke over each other, the words fusing together into a chaos of syllables and accusations. Quatre shifted a panicked look between them both until Wufei fell silent, leaving the last of Duo's tirade suddenly clear, if not eloquent. "—stick up his butt."

Wufei's eyes narrowed, betraying his emotions. "I didn't invite you in, Maxwell. As I recall, I opened my door to find you sitting on my bed reading through my personal effects."

"Your diary fucking sucks, by the way. Trieze's entries are much more interesting."

Quatre gaped at his roommate. "I was investigating! Totally different rules when it's not your roommate's stuff. Your things are like sacred treasures to me," Duo assured him. Quatre was just glad he'd stopped shouting.

"Investigating what?" Wufei asked testily, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"You," Duo shot back. "You were right, I don't know anything about you. Who was that lady earlier? How come you went away for a week? Why did Heero know every last detail about—" Duo shot a glance toward Quatre. "You called him, didn't you?"

Wufei's face was unreadable. "I don't know what you're talking about. I want you to leave."

"Not until I get some answers!"

Quatre crept forward and gently set his hand on Duo's elbow. The older boy shook off the touch. "I'm not leaving until I get some answers," he repeated, violet eyes boring holes into Wufei's black ones.

Some vague emotion fluttered across Wufei's features for a brief moment before they slid back into the cool, collected mask. "I don't—"

Duo suddenly seized him by the shoulders, fingers creasing the white dress shirt and digging into flesh. "I want to talk to Meiran."

Confusion flashed in Wufei's eyes as he stood, rigid, unmoving in Duo's grip. "She isn't here. I don't know where she is."

"Liar!" Duo lowered his face so they were eye to eye, amethyst to ebony. "Liar," he hissed.

A protest died in Quatre's throat, choked off by panic. His hand hovered mere inches from Duo's arm. He whispered his roommate's name.

Anger slipped into his voice, but none showed on Wufei's face. "Maxwell, stop it."

Duo ignored them both. "Dammit!" he cried. "Come out, Meiran!"

The younger boy tensed, arms drawing up as if to push Duo away. "Maxwell, you insufferable idiot let go of me this instant!" Despite the harsh words, Wufei looked younger and more unsure of himself than Quatre had ever seen him.

"Liar! I know! I know she's in here!" Duo shook him all the harder, sending inky strands of dark hair flying from their neat ponytail.

The scene scaled up into madness before Wufei suddenly snapped, screaming out "Stop!" A violent shove sent Duo reeling back into Quatre and toppled both boy's down to the floor. It was Wufei's turn to loom over Duo, gasping short, quick breaths. Black hair, flung about his face, framed a wild look and flushed cheeks. "Stop," he repeated, quieter, but voice still raw with emotion.

Blatant shock cast Duo's eyes into wide circles as he stared up at Wufei, mouth working as he struggled to find words. Quatre scrambled to his feet, snatching his bear off the floor. He hadn't meant to let go of Sandy. Duo slowly stood. "Wufei, I—"

"Shut up," Wufei barked. He turned away from them, going over to the desk and sitting. His journal lay open, the pages filled with three distinct sets of handwriting. Wufei undid the tie holding his hair back, letting it fall in a dark wave across the top of his shoulders.

Duo paused, holding down a hand for Quatre. His eyes never left Wufei. Sitting with his back resolutely to them, Wufei began to smooth out his hair with his fingers. Duo frowned. "Trieze?" he asked hesitantly.

When Duo shot him a helpless look, Quatre backed away slightly, shaking his head. He plucked at his roommate's sleeve, hoping they could leave now before the fighting started again. A slight hope snuck into Duo's features. "Meiran?"

"Duo, let's go," Quatre whispered. He tucked Sandy into a better position.

"Wufei?"

"Get out," Wufei said quietly. Dropping his hands away from his hair, Wufei sat with stiff, squared shoulders and stared down at the open journal.

Duo reluctantly following Quatre out of the room. He grasped the doorknob and started to swing the door closed behind him but hesitated, mouth opening as he struggled for words. Quatre reached around his roommate and eased the door the rest of the way closed, earning him a sharp look from Duo. Unspoken was Quatre's accusation that Duo had already said enough.

-

-

Author's Notes: Wooooo... Sorry! Life sort of tackled me there for a while. Anyway, I'm over my writer's block and pretty excited about this chapter. Obviously, this is part one, so I'll try and have the next chapter out shortly for your reading pleasure.  
It's the holiday season once again, which means longer hours at work for yours truly. I'm saving up to buy a Wii. It's also crunch time in terms of classwork. (Oh, I aced my Russian history midterm, in case you were curious) Blah blah, its my usual 'woe is me I have a life' speech. I remember the good ol' days when I could do nothing but wake up, write, sleep, and drink vanilla coke. Then again, that was because I had no friends. Hm.

Thanks for all your patience and support. Those who celebrate Turkey Day, I wish you the best. My fellow workers who dread Black Friday... hang in there. It'll be over soon.

And with that, I return to writing. Here's to part two, sometime soon!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2006 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte check my profile for contact info


	23. Wufei Part Two

LSE // 3-29-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Three - Wufei Part Two)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Wufei (Part Two)

-

The battered old Honda came to a wheezing stop behind one of the police cars, red and blue lights flashing up across the hood and over the dashboard. Lucrezia checked her appearance in the rearview mirror; a stray smudge of mascara underlined one eye and her hair was flat on one side, but otherwise she looked fine for having been dead asleep twenty minutes ago. Three am calls from the police were always her favorites. Her knee crackled like an old woman's when she stepped out of the car.

One of the officers was milling around next to the ambulance, which had its doors open but the cab inside empty, drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup with the EMT. Lucrezia wanted coffee, badly. The dew whispered against her flip flops and soaked her toes as she made her way up to the front of the ramshackle house. More officers were standing around inside the living room. "He's upstairs," one of them told her.

Lucrezia had to step around a caution-taped off pool of blood near the bottom of the stairs by sliding up against the wall. The blood equal parts fascinated and horrified her, and it was with a slight trepidation she climbed the stairs. Officer Bell, a tall, blonde handsome man with an equally blonde and pretty wife, was at the head of the stairs. She'd seen the photos on his desk to match the gold ring on his finger, fortunately before taking her friends' advice to make her move on "Hot cop." They had worked a domestic situation together a few months ago. He was the one who had places her three am wake-up call.

Fighting back a yawn, Lucrezia nodded in response to Bell's greeting. "All right, I'm here. Where's the fire?"

Bell led her down the short hallway. "Mom comes home around two after a bar-crawl and places the 911 call. We found the husband at the bottom of the stairs with a pair of scissors in his chest; he did on the way to Oak Springs. So as we're interrogating the missus, I come upstairs to look around and find the kid all hunched up in the corner wearing nothing but blood. Mom never mentioned him." Bell shook his head, pushing open a door with a number of dents on the outside. "We got him cleaned and dressed, but he won't talk."

"That's when you called me?" Lucrezia surveyed the small bedroom. The walls were a sort of salmon color and bare, no posters or other decoration, and the room entirely too clean to match the adolescent hunched over the bed.

"No signs of forced entry, and Mom's alibi checks out. The scissors have small fingerprints on them, but we haven't matched them yet."

"Yet being the keyword," Lucrezia sighed. "You think the kid…?"

Bell shrugged. "Go talk to him. His name is Wufei, and he's twelve. Mom doesn't seem too fond of him; we're not sure if the bruises are her work or not."

"All right. But get me a cup of coffee."

He grinned at her. Why were they always married? She crossed the small room. Time to focus. "Hello," she said softly. Not even a glance. The boy sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at the stained carpet. His long, ink black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, exposing a bandaged cut on his forehead and dark, fading circles of bruises over his cheeks and around equally dark and inky eyes. The boy's right eye was nearly swollen shut, the bruises fresh and angry compared to the half-healed ones.

Years of experience meant the bruises no longer made her want to go scream at someone. She had a nagging feeling that, in this case, the abuser had finally gotten what he deserved. Those sorts of thoughts were the reason she never became a cop; the temptation to dispense justice personally would have been too much. "My name is Lucrezia, but most people call me Noin. It's my last name. What's your name?"

"Trieze."

It came out as a whisper. Lucrezia knelt so she wasn't looming over the boy. "Trieze," he said again, louder this time.

"Oh, is that what you go by?"

"Well, that's my name. Are you a cop?" The boy seemed to be gathering confidence.

"No, I'm a social worker."

"Are you going to take Wufei's mom away?"

Lucrezia wasn't sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, Officer Bell had returned with a wonderful cup full of delicious coffee, and she excused herself to go get it. "Did he say anything?" Bell asked, surrendering the ceramic mug.

She breathed in deeply, savoring the aroma while waiting for the coffee to cool. Scorched taste buds were not the way to go, no matter how deeply her body craved caffeine. "That his name is Trieze. Then he asked if I was going to take 'Wufei's' mom away." Lucrezia took a long sip. Her taste buds would heal. "You sure this is her kid?"

Bell frowned. It had the affect of scrunching his brow in a way Lucrezia found irresistible. Cute cops should be outlawed; it completely ruined the bad boy image. "I'll double-check. We're about to take Mom in for questioning."

"And the boy?"

"Forensics said the prints are definitely a child's. We want to get copies of his to compare."

The coffee was a little bitter. Lucrezia went back over to Trieze and resumed her kneeling position. Her denim-clad knee rested on a circular burn mark on the carpet, presumably from a cigarette and hopefully not the boy's. "Sorry about that. Now, where were we?"

The boy merely stared at her, eyes dark and fearful. One step forward, two steps back apparently. "Don't worry," she assured him, "that officer's really nice. Look, he brought me coffee. It's way past my bedtime, you know."

Nothing.

"Lucrezia."

She turned. Bell was in the doorway, and the look on his face made her wish for more coffee. Excusing herself yet again, she went over to hear the bad news. It had to be bad news. No one delivered good news with a face like that. Big, gorgeous blue eyes looked over her shoulder to the boy. "Mom flipped and broke her coffee mug on Horowitz's foot when I mentioned the name Trieze to her. Something about imaginary friends and the kid being a freak; she threatened to come up here and 'beat the truth' out of him. We're taking her to the station, and I've got orders to take the kid as well."

"Nothing like a mother's love. I'll meet you guys over there."

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The lines on the page were blurring together in such a way that Lucrezia finally had to push the paperwork aside and focus her eyes on something not Times New Roman and boring. Her eyes landed on a poster with a cartoon trench-coat dog encouraging her to 'just say no' to drugs. Unless they counted caffeine as a drug, she was doing McGruff proud. At least since college. She sighed and dragged the folder back across the table to resume her reading.

A welcome distraction presented itself shortly, however, in the form of Officer Bell approaching. She flagged him over to her spot, wedged up against the corner of the pit, away from official police business. "What's the story?" she blurted out, alarmed to find her voice scratchy. That was sleep deprivation for you.

"The prints match," he answered around a yawn. "This might interest you, though." He tossed down a thin file folder

"Not more reading material. My eyes are going loopy already fighting through this one," she gestured to the open folder splayed across her desk. "Mom's got quite a record. I'm amazed at the ineptitude of the system that anyone allowed a child into her custody. She drowned her first one, her rich parents must have found a damn good lawyer to talk a jury into letting her go. Her husband's not much better; a big long slew of domestic complaints and minor assault charges. The kid's birth certificate doesn't have a father listed, and we can't find any living relatives beyond the mother. I hate my job sometimes." Her cheeks tried to summon up a blush, but failed. "Welcome to the wonderful world of social work."

"I know how you feel." And by his tone, she knew he was sincere. Bell flipped open the folder. "I'll summarize this one for you. The kid has psychiatric problems. The usual story, Mom just thinks he's a freak and denies treatment, but the school counselor flagged authorities last year. There's a short record of a hospitalization around March. Delusions, depression, personality disorders…" Bell flipped one of the pages, searching for something.

Beneath layers of exhaustion and numb acceptance, Lucrezia felt a glimmer of hope. They'd barely exchanged more than hellos, but she sincerely hoped that just once her job could have a happy ending. She had a good feeling about this kid. "Are you guys thinking self-defense?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Bell replied. "Here, this is interesting. 'Extreme emotional duress and instability' with 'disassociation' and 'emotional dysregulation' …we ran this by our shrink and she's taking a look at him now. I don't understand a lot of this mental mumbo, but it looks like the kid has some actual, serious problems."

"Disassociation?" Lucrezia leaned over and fought the marching lines of text into a semblance of order and coherence. "This doesn't mention a history of violence anywhere. A couple of fights at school, but nothing beyond kid stuff. This is good." She picked up the folder and started reading in earnest. "Thanks, Bell."

"I've told you," he said with a wide, boyish grin. "It's James."

Her eyes focused on the gold band around his ring finger, and stayed there until he left with a promise to come back once the shrink was done. An hour later, she took a coffee break. An hour after that, she had finished Wufei's psychiatric report and had dove back into the mom's file, punctuating her reading with long yawns and stares around the pit. It was nearly eight in the morning. Had she remembered to turn her alarm off? It was probably going off right now, severely pissing off her cat.

Bell turned back up closer to nine, expression grave. Lucrezia braced for bad news. "The mom's dead," he announced.

She gaped at him. How strong was that last pot of coffee?

"Drug overdose; no idea if it was intentional or not. Must have done it within minutes of Horowitz dropping her back home, because he went back about forty minutes ago to get the kid a change of clothes and found her slumped over the kitchen table."

"You're serious."

He looked it. She made a noble effort to set aside the giddy feeling of operating on less than three hours of sleep and school her face into something resembling composure. "Can I talk to him now?"

"Be my guest. Third interview room," he pointed across the pit.

She dragged herself up and, pit-stopping for another cup of coffee, sluggishly hauled herself over to the room. Was it awful of her to feel no remorse, and maybe a little sadistic joy, that such a hideous mother…? Yes, it was awful. Very, very awful. Lucrezia pushed open the door of the little room with sterile, concrete walls and heavy, steel furniture consisting of a table with two chairs. Neither was occupied. Wufei stood near one of the walls, looking at his reflection in the one-way glass. The ponytail had changed into two pigtails, the last one he was just tying back.

"Hello again," she said brightly. A bit too brightly, that was the caffeine finally registering in her brain. She set her mug down and sunk gratefully into one of the chairs. Terribly uncomfortable.

Wufei turned, looking at her with surprise for a few moments before smiling. Lucrezia returned the smile, a flood of warm-fuzzies entering her brain and giving her renewed strength. "Your make up's smudged," Wufei said.

The warm-fuzzies were dampened, but not gone. More like lukewarm-tingles. Was it that noticeable? No wonder people had been staring at her. "I was in a hurry. Is everyone treating you okay here?"

"Yeah, I guess. Is there anyone on the other side of this?" he pointed to the mirrored glass.

"Hm, no. I don't think so." Lucrezia gathered her feet and labored over to the light switch. She flipped the lights off, enabling them to vaguely see beyond the mirrored glass. "Anyone in there?"

"Nope, all clear. That's really cool. I didn't know it worked that way."

She flipped the lights back on and collapsed back into her chair. Warm, blessed coffee. She took a long sip. "It's one of the perks of my job; I get to find out cool stuff like that all the time. Sometimes I even get to ride around in the police cars."

"Uh-huh." Wufei studied his reflection again, poking at the fresh bruise around his eye with a worried look. "So it's like nine or something, right? Does this mean I get to skip school?"

"You bet," Lucrezia answered. "Do you like school?"

"No, it's boring. I usually don't go. I'm not very good at it anyway. Trieze is way better, but that's because he's older. When I'm older, I'm going to be better at lots of stuff than Trieze. That'll teach him to be so high and mighty all the time."

"Oh? Who's Trieze?"

"I dunno, he's like Wufei's friend or something. Wufei's my best friend in like the whole wide world, though, so I bet he and Trieze aren't all that great of friends. We don't really get along. I think he's, um, what's the word? Pom-something. Why do you wanna know?" the kid suddenly looked her, distrustful.

Lucrezia had a feeling she was staring, but couldn't help it. She groped pathetically through her feeble, sleepy brain for some sort of witty and calming reply. The search resulted in a big fat blank. "I, uh."_ Very articulate, Noin_. "I met him earlier, I think."

"Oh. Well, yeah, he's kind of overrated," he muttered, facing back to the mirror.

"What, um. What is your name?"

"Meiran. Do you think my hair looks good this way?"

The bubbly attitude. The hair. The constant primping. Lucrezia dove out on to a limb. "Is Wufei your boyfriend?" she asked, aiming for a teasing tone and fervently hoping this didn't backfire into her face in a glorified explosion of teenage angst.

"As if!" A pink blush spread rapidly over the kid's face. "I told you, he's like my best friend ever."

Lucrezia sat back in her chair and tried not to gape. She was. She knew she had to be staring. "Meiran's a nice name for a girl," she ventured.

"You think? Thanks. What'd you say your name was again?" He—she—walked over and sat in the unoccupied chair.

She suddenly very badly wanted another cup of coffee, and maybe a nice long nap so that when she woke up, things would suddenly make sense. "Lucrezia, but everyone calls me Noin. I'm going to, uh, get some more coffee. Do you want anything?"

"I dunno. Breakfast maybe. I'm hungry."

"Gotcha. I'll, uh, be back." Lucrezia made her escape. She had a desperate, sinking feeling that this was one of those cases she was going to lose sleep over. Definitely one of those cases. She needed to find the police psychiatrist, fast. She threw away her coffee cup. No more caffeine. Time to get to work.

-

-

Author's Notes: ...WAH! I know you all hate me! I'm sooo sorry...!! There was a death in the family and massive amounts of life-sucking there for a while. Anyway! I'm back and ready to go!  
Let's see. I actually don't have much to say... just massive amounts of apologies for this taking me so long. And huge huge huge thank yous in advance for anyone still reading this. Don't give up on me! I swear to you... another chapter will be out soon! (I promise!)

Oh, and I can't believe I've been writing FoBW for three years. Crazy!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte  
check my profile for contact info


	24. Wufei Part Three

LSE // 3-30-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Four - Wufei Part Three)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Wufei (Part Three)  
-

The kid was munching on a doughnut and swinging his feet back and forth in the air, oblivious to the gathered spectators. Lucrezia hoped Meiran wouldn't come out and embarrass her by doing the light trick again; Officer Bell and the police psychiatrist were using the one-way glass to observe Wufei. The psychiatrist, a no-nonsense woman with long, blonde hair held back in two thick braids, was deep in discussion with Officer Bell. Lucrezia severely regretted her vow against coffee and was starting to feel exhausted.

"Without further testing it's hard to se sure, but I'd definitely think the boy's showing all the classic signs of a disassociative episode. It's common enough for chronic cases of child abuse and neglect. It's very possible he has no awareness of the crime itself, especially if he is completely disassociated. Ms. Noin, you said that you spoke with a female personality?" Doctor Po looked at her. It was the first time either cop or shrink had acknowledged her in a while.

Her response was typically coherent. "Huh? Oh, yes. That's right. Her name was Meiran, I believe."

Po nodded thoughtfully. "But for the episode to manifest this early… There's no way of being sure, but this trauma could have been the catalyst for these friend delusions to form cognitive boundaries…"

Officer Bell interrupted, "And that means?"

"Basically, that until last night, this was a child with severe emotional trauma but otherwise a healthy, functioning psyche. I'm almost positive that this is the first manifestation of these alternate personalities. I expect they're acting as a coping mechanism."

"When I spoke with Meiran, she seemed to indicate they had, er, known each other for a while. She talked about going to school."

"Borrowing memories from the subconscious, I imagine. The fabrication of their friendship is probably linked to these personalities having first been delusions."

Bell sighed heavily. "And the murder?"

"Could have happened before or after the schism. It might have been the final push into complete disassociation, or vise versa. It's impossible to say without further interview."

In the room beyond, Wufei had finished the doughnut and was now sitting with his arms folded over the table, head pillowed on them. His face was turned away from the glass. "I'll go talk to him," Lucrezia offered. They both just stared at her. "I'm a less threatening figure than a doctor or a cop," she countered. "Maybe I can find out about what happened."

The truth was important, but she also felt bad for how bored Wufei looked. Being locked in an interview room for hours on end could not be fun. Her office was still trying to locate a living relative, but Lucrezia had a sinking feeling that if Wufei avoided jail, he'd become a permanent fixture in her life as just another child in the system. Difficult to place in a home, due to age, and any sort of mental or physical disease… Right, Noin. One step at a time.

Wufei looked up when she entered, a guarded, distrustful look in his dark eyes. He rested his head back on his arms and turned his face away, to the glass and away from her. Lucrezia sat in the unoccupied chair and stretched her arms back with a yawn. "I'm so sleepy!" she said. The words came out fake, and she hastily lowered the enthusiasm. "This is still way past my bedtime."

No reaction.

"Are you still hungry? I bet I could wrestle a sprinkle doughnut away, if you want."

One sneaker-clad foot kicked at the floor. Lucrezia wasn't sure if that meant anything.

"Where's my mom?" Wufei asked, still not looking at her.

Lucrezia glared over the boy's shoulder, aiming for the man behind the glass. She could just imagine Bell's hapless shrug in return; someone must have decided to wait against telling Wufei his mother's fate. Or maybe they'd told him, but just... not him. Which was entirely too confusing for her. "I dunno, kiddo," she replied. She made it a policy not to lie to children, but equally strong was her policy of not interfering with police investigations.

She tried a few more attempts at conversation, but Wufei rebuffed her with either silence or questions she couldn't answer. Like, when could he go home, why wasn't he in school today, would he have to go to school tomorrow. Finally, Lucrezia threw in the towel and excused herself to "go find out" when in reality she really wanted a long nap in her soft, warm bed. She yawned just thinking about it.

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Her cat was extremely pissed when Lucrezia finally made it home, just past noon. Her alarm filled the house with a loud squawking that ensured she woke up, but also made her cat's tail twice his normal size. Lucrezia turned it off and resisted the urge to simply fall face-first into the bedding. After a brief, hot shower and feeding the cat, she gave in to that temptation and crawled in between the covers.

Her mind, however, roamed restlessly over her newest case. She could just imagine the headlines this would generate if it got out: psycho twelve-year-old stabs stepfather to death; mother dead from drug overdose. Details on page nine. Unless the district attorney was feeling particularly vengeful, the case should be put into juvenile court. The bruises and victim's criminal history should be able to paint a picture of emotional duress, maybe even self defense. With any luck, the kid wouldn't see the inside of a jail.

So why couldn't she stop worrying?  
You're just feeling guilty that cat's pissed. And you broke your diet. Oh, and you can't stop thinking about the attractive but incredibly married cop you just spent the better part of the wee morning hours flirting with.

The cat jumped on to the bed with all the grace of a pissed feline, but grudgingly took up his spot at the foot of her bed. Lucrezia felt a dose of the warm-fuzzies, right up until the cat's nails found her feet through the blankets. "Now we're even," she told him. The cat purred happily, kneading his paws against the sheet.

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In the end, Lucrezia couldn't save him. Wufei refused to talk about the incident. She suspected he remembered everything, but chose to say that he remembered nothing. Despite all the circumstantial evidence proving self-defense, the numerous bruises and unexplained broken bones over the years were denied, given flimsy explanations or obvious lies. She lobbied for psychiatric counseling and foster home placement; she'd found a couple willing to take him in despite the accompanying baggage. The end verdict was to throw the boy into the system.

Now he sat in her car, staring out the window, his life's possessions stuffed into a single suitcase. She broke her own policy and lied shamelessly, telling Wufei that his new home would be great and how he'd have other children to play with. Considering his background, they might not have been lies. Their destination was a maximum security juvenile facility near the state border, a two hour drive that Lucrezia immediately volunteered to make.

Wufei adjusted his new glasses. When Lucrezia had been checking his school records, she found the old exam recommending them years ago that had likely been ignored by the boy's mother. She worked loopholes and borrowed favors to get the frames ready early, in time for this trip.

"Will I see you again?" Wufei asked suddenly as the hospital loomed up into view. It was the first time he had spoken more than 'yes' or 'no' since the trial.

"Of course. I'm in charge of your well-being. Did you remember to pack my business card? You can call or write me if you need anything," Lucrezia put on her happy face and gave the boy a smile. He didn't seem reassured, and kept looking worriedly at the hospital. "Plus you'll definitely see me in six months. Remember, I told you about that? In six months your case will get re-evaluated so you might get transferred to someplace, er, nicer. Not that this place isn't nice, of course."

She parked the car. Wufei stayed sitting, even after she got out. Lucrezia went around to the passenger side and swung the door open with a grand gesture. "We're here, sir."

Instead of smiling like she hoped, Wufei just looked up at her with big, solemn eyes. He always struck her as very serious no matter what the situation, unlike his two more playful and teasing personalities. Then again, that made sense. Doctor Po had explained that Meiran and Trieze served as outlets for emotional… Lucrezia forgot the technical, mental health terms.

She leaned down and unbuckled his seat belt. "Come on, let's go. They're waiting on us."

"I don't want to go," Wufei said quietly. He stared down at his lap, lower lip trembling dangerously. Lucrezia couldn't handle crying children; it gave her motivation to cheer them up, but depressed her terribly because most of the time she couldn't solve all their problems.

She knelt and gave in to a temptation she'd been harboring for several months, folding Wufei into a hug. He was stiff at first, resisting her, but after a few moment his arms tentatively went around her back. His shoulders trembled with the effort of holding back tears. Lucrezia had yet to see him cry, not even at the brief funeral services or sentencing.

They parted, mutually embarrassed. Wufei silently unbuckled and got out of the car, eyes wet but cheeks dry. The bruises were almost faded, but one eye still had a dark outline. A little half-moon scar on his forehead was still healing. Lucrezia got his suitcase from the backseat. "Do you have everything?" she asked gently. He nodded.

They started walking. Wufei slipped his hand inside hers and she gave it a slight squeeze. He dropped it once they got closer to the entrance and she let him; he looked acutely embarrassed enough already. Inside, Lucrezia found the main office and reluctantly turned him over to a stern looking orderly. The secretary had a stack of paperwork for her to fill out and sign. Her job consisted of lots of paperwork.

Wufei took his suitcase and looked up at her, the same solemn look in his eyes.

"Do you have everything?" she asked again.

He nodded. They stood awkwardly. Lucrezia never thought she'd find herself in a situation quite like this. She nodded back at him. "Don't forget you can call or write me if you need anything. Otherwise, I promise I'll see you in six months, okay?"

Wufei nodded and followed the orderly. Lucrezia watched him leave and felt a glimmer of doubt about her promise; she might quit her job tomorrow if she had to deal with another case like this one. Her heart just couldn't take it.

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The click-clack sound of heels against the polished marble floor echoed in the small hallway. Wufei stared down at his interlaced fingers and made several earnest, silent pleas for the footsteps to breeze past him, but was disappointed when a pair of sensible navy pumps stopped directly in front of him. The wearer of the shoes in question knelt down to bring her face into eye-level with Wufei's. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Wufei nodded stiffly. Instead of leading him away, however, the social worker sat on the empty length of bench next to him. "Do you need to go over things again? We have until the bailiff comes to get us," Noin offered with a pleasant smile.

"No. I'm ready."

"The judge will want to ask you about your treatment, and maybe review your case a little first," Noin explained. They had gone over this last week, at the hospital, and again in the car. Did she repeat herself because of his age or his illness? Perhaps it was just in her nature to be thorough. Wufei decided that was the best explanation. Noin continued, "They're going to want to know how you like the hospital and your doctors. Just be honest. Your opinion matters a lot to the judge, so don't be afraid he'll think you're being difficult if you complain a little."

The bailiff emerged from the double wooden doors across the hallway and announced a docket number. Noin stood and Wufei followed suit. The courtroom was small with the items arranged more intimately than in a standard room. Noin led her charge up to the wood-rail enclosed stand that was perpendicular to the judge's raised seat. Doctor S and Ms. Une were among those scattered beneath the twin lawyer tables, either fresh from testifying or waiting their turn to do so. Noin took a seat next to Wufei's lawyer, a squat woman he had never seen before.

The judge rifled through his paperwork for a moment, and then started asking Wufei various questions. They were all ones Noin had prepped him for, and Wufei felt the nervous coil of tension in his gut start to slowly unwind. This wasn't his first hearing like this. They came regularly, like Christmas or his birthday, and always with the same questions. The results varied. His favorite had shunted him from hell into a quaint halfway house, a place he still remembered fondly for the freedom, if nothing else. Trieze was to thank for that little utopia getting taking away. Meiran still held a grudge.

Last year's hearing had been a disaster, and Wufei refused to think about it. He looked up and realized the judge was waiting on an answer. "Do you know a patient named Milliard Peacecraft?"

Wufei stared at him, and then slowly shook his head. He could tell it was the wrong answer immediately. He snuck a glance over to Noin; she was glaring at the judge and elbowing his lawyer repeated. He looked back up at the judge.

"It says here you've been spending a lot of time with him. Milliard's record is quite extensive, with several juvenile arrests and charges. It also says here that one of the nurses caught the two of you in an off limits area of the facility."

His toes tingled in that numb sort of way that indicated panic. Wufei looked over at Noin again before answering the judge. "I'm sorry. I don't know a Milliard. I, I must not remember the incident, um." Wufei stammered nervously.

"Your Honor, may I approach?" his lawyer asked. She and the state attorney went up together and dissolved into whispers and pointed looks in his direction.

Wufei interlaced his fingers and waited. At last, everyone returned to their seats. The judge tapped his gavel. Noin leapt from her seat and hurried up to take him down from the stand. Wufei frowned at her, relieved it was over quickly but confused nonetheless. "Are we done?" he asked her.

Noin didn't answer, her lips pressed into a thin line. She led him out of the courtroom and, once they were in the hallway, exploded. "Stupid lazy cow! I don't even think she so much as glanced at your file! Oooh is her supervisor going to hear from me tomorrow…"

Wufei gaped at her.

Recovering her sensibilities, Noin gave him a reassuring smile. "You did fine. Don't worry about that, it's nothing. They can't get mad at you for having friends."

"But I don't know any Milliard," Wufei protested.

"Trieze does," Noin said tersely. Wufei lowered his eyes; that explained a lot. Had Trieze not learned his lesson from last time? Meiran wouldn't be the only one with a grudge if this hearing came out badly. Noin cuffed him on the shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. I'll buy you dinner."

-

-

Author's Notes: I really, really wanted to get this out today. I'm glad I did! Um, not much to say because I'm in a bit of a hurry. Heh! I'll try to keep up the pace and have another chapter out (hopefully) soon.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte  
check my profile for contact info


	25. Breaking Up

LSE // 4-20-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Five - Breaking Up)  
rated: R - language, content, violence shounen-ai/yaoi 

Breaking Up

-

Wufei waited for the soft click of the latch before the coiled tension broke, sending the journal flying across the room, followed by the pencil holder. Meiran's favorite pen collided against the corner with an audible snap. A few months back she had borrowed it from Doctor Une. Then pen, blue and with squishy sides, featured a rather endearing blob with a crooked smile. Some brand of antidepressants' promotion; Wufei assumed Meiran found it ironic. She would be upset if he broke it.

Kneeling on the floor, Wufei began to gather up the scatter pens and the odd pencil or two. There were quite a few; both Trieze and Meiran were fond of borrowing, stealing or otherwise hoarding interesting pens. In a medium-security asylum, that was something of a challenge. Wufei suspected it was yet another one of their many rivalries. Neither had brought home stray pens at the half-way house.

Which brought him back to thinking about today's hearing. Duo's outburst had helped distract him, if nothing else. Fleetingly, Wufei had the rash idea to wander out into the common area, just to bait Duo into another fight. No. He was done fighting for the day.

The last of the pens were rounded up and put back into their holder – a coffee can covered in tissue paper and Elmer's glue, courtesy of Trieze's unfathomable addiction to arts and crafts. Wufei took both the can and the journal back over the desk. Taking a seat, he opened the journal to the first blank spot. He selected Meiran's squishy pen -- coincidentally his favorite, but only because it was comfortable --and began to write.

-July, 27th, 8:42pm  
Ms Noin arrived this morning as scheduled for the sentence evaluation hearing. The judge's report will be ready by Friday according to Ms Noin. They wanted to know about someone named Milliard. Trieze is supposed to know him. Upon returning I found Duo reading this journal. Meiran

Wufei paused, pen poised above the paper. He started to scribble out the last word, but a something stopped him. The switch was subtle; the handwriting now took on a cursive loop, deviating from Wufei's neat, even lines.

What about Meiran, Wufei? You should know better than to leave sentences incomplete. How did the hearing go? Was the judge nice? Did Noin say anything about what might happen? You're worthless sometimes.  
I wish Noin would have taken me out to a fancy dinner.  
What did Duo have to say? He's been worrying about you, and I don't blame him. I thought only Trieze was that big of a sulk. Well, maybe that's harsh. I suppose you had your reasons. I hope Duo gave you an earful. Jerk. I'm glad the hearing's over with. You know Doctor S is going to ask you about it on Monday, Wufei. He's probably going to dock points if you don't "share your emotions" with him, so you better not be a jerk. You hear me? I've been covering for you so far, but I'm about out of patience. Therapy is boring.

Meiran twirled the pen over in her fingers. The plastic clip was chipped slightly. She left the pen on top of the journal and started messing with her hair. She pulled the dark strands up into an imaginary bun. Briefly, she imagined how diamond earrings would look sparkling against the darkness. She let the hair fall. Earrings were girly. Meiran would rather die than end up a flighty princess like Relena, with perfect hair and darling outfits. But, still… earrings were subtle.

No, earrings were not allowed for her.

_But what would he think if I had earrings?_

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She nearly ignored it before remembering the cryptic ending of Wufei's entry. With that it mind, she felt little surprise and finding Duo on the other side of the door. His expression, some combination of misery and supplication that defied her understanding, caused her considerable pause.

Duo spoke quickly, as if expecting to be turned away. "I know you're angry and you have every right to be. I'm a jerk. I was going to just let you cool off and maybe come to your senses, but..."

He paused, amethyst eyes deeply searching dark ones. Caught off guard by both the sudden apology and the deep emotion vibrant in each line of Duo's face, it took Meiran a moment to realize he wasn't talking to her. She started to correct him, but hesitated. Curiosity and jealousy nibbled at her conscious.

Integrity finally won the inner battle. "Are you looking for Wufei?"

Instead of looking disappointed, Duo's face lost some of its misery. He smiled. "I was looking for you, Meiran."

"Don't I feel special." Meiran stepped back and waved Duo in to her room.

Dragging the desk chair over, Meiran situated herself in front of Duo, who sat on the bed. Was it her imagination, or did Duo's eyes keep wandering to the desk? Wufei had mentioned he'd been snooping. Two met two and became four, and Meiran suddenly realized what must have happened. Duo represented the cat, dead from curiosity.

Good thing she hadn't succumbed to it herself.

"Sorry you had to waste such a well rehearsed apology. It's not often I get to see you groveling," Meiran commented.

A touch of pink underscored Duo's cheeks. "Wufei and I exchanged some heated words."

"So I gathered. What's up?" she offered, head tilting to one side.

Duo played with the end of his braid, dusting it over the top of the blanket like a brush. He idly traced out a star pattern. "I want some answers. Where'd Wufei go today? Who was that lady? Why did he call Heero? He hates Heero!"

Meiran sighed heavily, "What makes you think I have the answers? If you read the journal then you know just as much as I do about what that boy's motives are."

Amethyst eyes gave her a disbelieving stare, and Meiran had to look away. "You know I can't tell you anything. It wouldn't be fair to Wufei. If he doesn't want you knowing—"

"Then where did you go today? I didn't see you around the ward," Duo pressed, leaning forward. "Where did you go?"

Her lips formed a tight line and she had to hold back an accusation of cheating. Meiran was saved from response, however, but a light, timid knock on the door. The door creaked open, exposing the petite and equally timid Quatre peering in at them. Meiran waved him in.

Duo looked affronted, "I told you not to worry."

Quatre lowered his head and started to leave. Meiran shot Duo a leveled look and bounced up to intercept the other boy. "Have a seat," she instructed, pointing to the chair she'd just abandoned.

"Story time!" Duo chimed, realizing his victory.

Meiran rolled her eyes and sat on the floor between them. Quatre sat stiffly, his big blue eyes taking in the both of them with a sort of wariness Meiran found a little insulting. She remembered Duo's admittance of a fight and understood; she gave Quatre a soft, reassuring smile. The boy didn't look calmed by it.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Meiran grumbled. Duo just grinned back at her. "Wufei's a ward of the state, so that was his case worker who came to visit." Meiran looked down at her tightly clasped fingers and lied through her teeth, "She took him clothes shopping."

The older boy's features went from keen worry to exasperation. "Shopping."

"And dinner," she lifted her face.

Duo fell back on to the bed with a short, clipped laugh. "All that fuss for a date. That's so Wufei. That jerk made me worry for nothing."

Meiran nodded her agreement, relieved Duo had bought her lie. Something drew her attention to the side, where her gaze caught Quatre's. Her heart skipped a beat; skepticism was plain on the boy's face. Aquamarine eyes softly accused her, and Meiran had to look away.

"This means I'm going to have to grovel again," Duo said from his horizontal position. "Lots and lots of groveling."

* * *

"Who's the blonde?" Wufei asked. They were his first words beyond a muttered 'forget it' at breakfast when Duo's groveling commenced. Dark eyes leveled a curious gaze at Zechs, who had just entered Doctor Richards's office.

Duo leaned over and whispered an explanation Quatre couldn't entirely hear, but 'Trieze' and 'boy toy' featured prominently. Wufei's brows drew in sharply. The fainted hint of pink flooded into his cheeks. Quatre had momentarily forgotten that Wufei hadn't been around for Zechs's arrival. The older boy sunk into his usual spot next to the Chinese boy, and Wufei's nostrils flared slightly when he did so.

"Hey," Zechs said, slinging an arm over Wufei's shoulders.

"Get your hand off me," Wufei growled out, body going ridged.

Blue eyes shocked, Zechs jerked his arm away and frowned. "Where're your pigtails?"

"Excuse me?" Wufei lifted his chin and pointedly averted his eyes. "Quatre, switch me chairs."

"O-okay," Quatre stood and they shuffled around Duo. Zechs sunk low in his chair, scowling.

Doctor Richards's voice carried out from the hallway and into the room. He was berating someone, and from the gist of the lecture, Relena. Quatre's suspicions were confirmed when she slunk into the room, head lowered. Richards stopped and said, "We'll talk more after session."

Zechs leaned around Quatre and hissed, "What's your problem?"

Wufei resolutely ignored him.

"Okay, everyone. Since we finished up out art projects yesterday," Richards gestured to one wall of his office where several pictures were clipped up on display, a handful from their own group but the majority from his other sessions. Quatre had found Trowa's half-completed one in the trash last week and relocated it to the bottom of his sock drawer, carefully folded. Relena was beaming at her drawing, which was a rather simple portrait of herself. No matter how many times Richards insisted the portraits were supposed to be symbolic, she submitted a standard self-portrait.

"So everyone pair off," Richards finished.

Quatre realized he had missed the assignment completely. Fortunately, Duo snagged his hand and lifted it up. "I got my buddy!" Quatre smiled at his roommate and caught Wufei glaring darkly at the back of Duo's head. Duo started dragging their chairs over to the far side of the room. The girls moved their chairs away as well and leaned forward, blonde heads close together as they whispered. That left Zechs and a very reluctant Wufei, who glowered darkly when the other boy sat across from him.

"I missed what we're supposed to be doing," Quatre whispered.

"Me too," Duo whispered back. "I was distracted by Wufei's anger not being directed at me for once." He raised his voice, "Hey! What're we doing again?"

The doctor came over and patted Duo on the shoulder, "We're sharing ourselves today. Don't be afraid to open up. Let your feelings out. Everyone is your friend here. I want you to—"

Duo glanced over his shoulder, "The girls are admiring Relena's new shoes."

Dorothy stuck her tongue out as Richards wheeled around and made a bee line for them, waxing advice on deeper topics of discussion. Duo returned the gesture and faced back around to his roommate. "This is lame," he muttered. They stared at each other for a while. Duo grinned suddenly. "Good thing Trowa's not here, this is just the kind of exercise Richards would hammer him with. Oops," Duo said, seeing Quatre's face fall.

"No, it's okay!" Quatre hastened to assure his roommate. He snuck a glance to make sure the doctor was still engrossed in lecturing the girls. Whatever Relena had done really set him off. "I—" The words died.

Duo looked at his expectantly before realizing Quatre's attention was focused just over his shoulder. He turned. Wufei's face was a bright red in color and Zechs's not far off. Duo waved his hand. "Don't worry, I bet—" It was his turn to be at a loss for words when the metal folding chairs toppled over, shoved down by Zechs's abrupt standing. He jerked Wufei up by a fistful of shirt.

"Hey!" Duo rose up.

The sharp resounding sound of abused flesh punctuated Zechs's fist meeting Wufei face, and Quatre let out a small shriek. Another blow knocked Wufei to the ground, but before anything more could happen the doctor, quicker than Quatre would have thought possible, locked both of Zechs's arms behind his back. The boy was nearly as tall as Richards, but put up no resistance. He panted, staring down at Wufei.

Quatre realized his arms were tightly locked around Duo's waist. He hardly remembered restraining his roommate. Duo shook him off, albeit gently, and lowered his raised fist. "I know," he muttered darkly. The girls were frozen in their chairs, Relena's eyes filled with shocked tears as she gazed at her cousin.

Wufei sat up and roughly scrubbed under his nose, streaking crimson along the length of his sleeve. One eye was blackened and puffy, already swelling, and blood dripped from his equally swollen nose. The look of surprise on his face was greater than anyone else's. He dabbed at his face, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Everyone stay calm, no one move," Richards ordered. "Relena, get Wufei the box of tissues. Wufei, lean your head forward slightly and pinch your nose together. Zechs, you come with me. Everyone else stay here! That means you, Duo." The doctor frog-marched Zechs out of the room, arms still tightly held behind his back.

-

-

Author's Notes: So, little under a month's not bad, right? Ug, I can't believe I'm saying that when I use to be able to get a chapter a day. I miss being able to write practically full-time. (Summer! You're nearly here)  
Oh, I'm glad to be writing. I'm really excited about the story. Thank you, everyone, for all the wonderful feedback! I really appreciate it. I'm glad people are still reading despite my awful lack of updates. I'm so sorry! I promise I'll work harder! My groveling will put Duo's to shame!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (check my profile for contact info)


	26. Coming Down

LSE // 5-08-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Six - Coming Down)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Coming Down

-

"What the hell did you say to him!" Dorothy broke out, breaking the silence. She sounded slightly scandalized and fully amused. Relena rushed to the doctor's desk and snagged up the box of tissues.

Duo and Quatre rushed to Wufei's side. Duo snagged him up under the arm, "Let's get you up. Here, into the chair. I'll help."

Wufei shook Duo off and remained sitting on the floor. He scrubbed at the blood under his nose, trying to keep it from entering his mouth. Relena set the box of tissues on the floor and backed away, clearly squeamish, either from the blood or the mess. Wufei ignored the tissues.

Duo snatched one up and pinched Wufei's nose closed like the doctor ordered. Wufei yelped in pain and tried to pull away, but Duo held firm. "The quack went to medical school," Duo countered. "Lean forward like he said, not back. I heard that's actually bad for you."

"Attila the Hun died from a nosebleed, you know." Dorothy spun the doctor's rolodex hard enough to send a couple of the little cardboard entries fluttering. Relena gathered them up off the floor and started rearranging the entire thing into proper, alphabetical order. Dorothy started thumbing through one of the bookcases. "He whacked his head into a beam and drowned right there, on the floor, in his own blood. Incredibly drunk."

"Ib fine," Wufei insisted thickly, trying to wave off Duo's ministrations. The older boy just clasped another tissue to the bleeding, making Wufei wince.

Quatre hung back, squeezing Sandy to his chest. "Why did he hit you?"

Wufei just glowered out of his good eye, the swelling having finally claimed the other. One of the nurses breezed in holding a first aid kit. Quatre vaguely recognized her as the head of the infirmary from his own brief stay after Duo… He shoved the memories aside, already too shaken from the brief fight to divulge in dark thoughts.

The nurse was accompanied by a stout, angry-looking orderly. Quatre backed off without being told and partially hid Sandy behind his back. The nurse stared at Duo for a moment, "Maxwell, go wash your hands. You've got blood on them." She brushed him aside and clamped latex glove-covered fingers over Wufei's nose, making him flinch and mutter 'Ib fine' again.

"Doc said not to leave," Duo protested.

"Scott, escort Maxwell to the bathroom and back."

Following the stern orderly out the door, Duo stuck out his tongue at the nurse's back. The orderly saw and berated him sharply, but Quatre lost Duo's response as they disappeared out the door. The nurse took Wufei under the arm like Duo had, and this time the boy let himself be hauled up into standing. "Let's get you to the infirmary, Chang." She kept her hand on Wufei's elbow. "The rest of you stay put!"

"Yes, ma'am," Relena called from the desk. She was arranging the pens in Richards's desk holder by approximate amount of ink left, testing each one on a scrap piece of paper. She kept casting angry glances to Dorothy, who was rearranging all the doctor's books by color. "They go by author!" she finally snapped, earning a distracted rude gesture from her friend.

Quatre sunk into one of the empty chairs and curled Sandy up against his chest. Why would Zechs do something like that? His hands shook slightly with nerves, but Quatre suddenly realized that he hadn't panicked. Violence normally sent him shaking and quavering, but this time he'd actually done something useful. He'd kept Duo from getting in trouble. But maybe he should have let Duo help? Quatre gnawed on his lower lip.

Duo's return provided a much needed distraction which he eagerly latched on to. Duo dragged one of the scattered folding chairs over to where Quatre sat and straddled it, arms looped over the back. "Man, that was crazy, even for this place. You all right?" He smiled when Quatre nodded. "I thought for sure you would have spazzed out, so, glad you didn't. Thanks for keeping me from pummeling Zechs's pretty face in, I bet Dickie would have had a field day with that. Oh, violent outbursts! He's a danger! Write up a transfer! That man's such a pompous ass."

A little warm feeling spread in his chest, and Quatre ducked his head to hide his smile. Duo grinned back, however, so he probably wasn't hiding it very well. Then again, Duo tended to grin a lot. "I'm probably going to spit in his food or something," Duo admitted. "Poor substitute for kicking the snot out of him, though. I can't believe he'd haul off and punch Wufei like that. Hell, I've been more pissed at him than most people and couldn't hit him."

"Daddy says he has a temper. He warned me not to get too close," Relena piped up. She'd moved on to fixing Dorothy's rearrangements, but the other girl was taking all the pens out of their holder and doodling on the back of a patient's file. Relena looked very unhappy about this. "I can't believe he was right."

"Yeah, I'd call that a bad temper. Way to go, Trieze," Duo muttered. "Hey, Dorothy, anything fun over there?"

"Half eaten Danish and a bottle of Evian in the bottom drawer," she called back, staring down into the drawer in question. Relena made a scandalized noise and hurriedly retrieved the tissues. Holding the pastry gingerly between one, she dumped it into the trash. Dorothy amended her statement, "Just a bottle of water."

"Great," Duo sighed. "You wanna play I spy? I spy something pink and neurotic."

"What do you think Wufei said?" Quatre said, hoping that Relena overhead Duo's last comment. Her attention seemed pretty riveted on the bookcase.

"Gathering from the glares he was shooting off, probably something along the lines of 'hands off' … But I don't get why that would make Zechs get violent like that. I mean, he knew Meiran was against him, but that didn't stop him. He'd have to be an idiot not to figure out Wufei wasn't going to be happy. You'd have to be half an idiot to mess around with someone's alternate personality. I mean, I'm crazy and that idea sounds like lunacy."

"Daddy said he used to be in a gang until his suicide attempt." Relena tossed back her long, golden hair and gave them a smug look. "It's where the name Zechs comes from."

"Anything else you'd like to contribute, princess? You seemed to have found out a lot about your cousin," Duo shot back.

Relena sniffed haughtily and turned back to the books. "Daddy said he's working on getting him transferred. I told him I didn't feel safe with him here and now look what's happened. I bet you he'll be gone after this."

"I spy something pink and bitchy," Duo muttered. "C'mon, Quat, let's blow this place." He stood up and started for the door, but the hulking mass of Scott the orderly made him turn back around. Slumping back into his chair, Duo kicked his roommate's sneakers with a black-boot covered foot. "Maybe not."

By the time a nurse came to announce they could leave, Relena was no longer speaking to Dorothy and the doctor's desk was in shambles. They filed out under the watchful eyes of Scott the hulking orderly, out of the therapy ward and into the commons.  
"C'mon" Duo whispered as they broke away from the group. The girls parted ways, Relena's face firmly pressed into quiet fury and Dorothy's just looking rather bored. Duo was leading him toward the other hallway.

"Don't you have individual next?" Quatre asked. G's office was in the same long corridor as Richards's.

Duo didn't say anything at first, eyes intent on one of the nurses. When she turned her back on them briefly to reprimand a round girl in sweats, Duo snagged the smaller boy's elbow and they darted into the hallway, ducking around the first corner they approached. Duo craned his head out and whispered, "All clear." He moved quietly down the hall and motioned for Quatre to follow.

The walls were a powdery blue, a color Quatre found particularly soothing. He frowned and plucked at Duo's sleeve. "Isn't this—" Duo made a jerking hand gesture and hushed him softly. Quatre lowered his voice into a hissing whisper. "Isn't this the restricted ward?"

"The infirmary office is at the end of the hall," Duo told him in hushed tones. He grabbed the boy's arm again and pulled him around another corner. He held up a finger to his lips and set a hand against Quatre's chest to keep up against the hall. They stood there, motionless, for a long time.

Quatre grew antsy, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Ominous doors with little glass windows set into thick steel lined the hallways on either side of the intersection. Some were open, but with his back against the wall he couldn't see the interior. Impatient, Quatre opened his mouth to protest, but just then he heard the faint sound of footsteps. Two orderlies came walking up the hall. Quatre stiffened with panic, but Duo squeezed his hand and made another motion for silence. They waited until the orderlies came into view and then passed, never once ceasing conversation. Quatre let out his breath.

"What are we doing?" Quatre whirled on his friend in a quiet fury. "We're going to get caught."

"Nonsense. Here, hurry up." Duo ducked out into the hallway and sauntered out like he belonged there. Which he didn't. Not at all. Quatre scrambled after his roommate.

True enough, at the end of the hallway was a single glass door, currently open, leading into a cramped office. Wufei sat on one of the sodas, across the room on the other was a pale-faced young boy, younger than Quatre. The swelling on Wufei's face had gone down considerably, but the eye was still darkly circled. The thin, wire-framed glasses perched on a bandaged and puffy nose; the bleeding had stopped. Funny, Quatre realized, that Wufei hadn't been wearing his glasses earlier.

"How ya doing?" Duo chirped brightly, plunking himself down on the couch. Wufei gave him a long look of reluctant patience; it was a he often gave the older boy. Duo gently touched the mottled bruises and Wufei winced. Duo dropped his hand away as if burned. "Is it broken?"

"No," Wufei said shortly, his voice still thick. Quatre noticed his cheeks had pinked slightly.

"What are you two doing here?" the infirmary nurse barked. She came out of a door behind her desk, and with a jolting shock Quatre recognized it. He'd last seen Trowa through the other side of that small glass window.

"We were sent to take Wufei back. Session's over," Duo explained quickly, throwing around an innocent, charming smile. Quatre had seen it soothed ruffled nurses and get him extra dessert when Duo was at his most appealing.

"Chang is going to stay right here until I say so, Maxwell. Get out before I have to dock points," the nurse snapped. She turned so sharply on her heel that Quatre heard the tile protest. The heavy door slammed shut behind her, making both the pale boy on the couch and Quatre flinch.

"What's her deal?" Duo asked in bewilderment, making a rude gesture with his hand at the closed door.

Wufei rolled his shoulders. "Some phone call set her off."

The nurse rapped on the glass window and a muffled "Out!" sounded through the door. Duo waved cheerily back and edged just closer to the door that she left again. "I've got session with G right now, but after that you want to play chess?"

"I'll just beat you," Wufei grumbled.

The answer set a big grin across Duo's face. "Let's go!" he urged Quatre, still grinning stupidly. "Bye, Nurse Ratched!" he called loudly, making Wufei cough around a concealed laugh. Taking Quatre by the arm, Duo hauled his roommate out into the hall.

"I can't believe she bought that," Quatre hissed. Duo's grin was infectious and the blonde found himself smiling back.

Duo snagged Quatre's hand and swung it up as they walked. "Wufei doesn't hate me! Wufei doesn't—" Gesturing wildly with his free hand, Quatre made frantic hushing sound at his roommate. Duo reduced his noise down to a cheery hum, and Quatre pressed his hand into the taller boy's mouth.

Very faintly, the sound of voices came drifting down the corridor. Duo stop staring at him and twisted his hand around, eyes searching. Quatre bounced on his toes anxiously, nibbling on one thumbnail; the other was still firmly encased in his roommate's firm grip. What would happen if they were caught? His father had said—

"This way," Duo used his grip to yank Quatre across the hall. He other hand sought the door and jerked it open, pulling Quatre after him. He eagerly hurried into the supply closet, but balked when he saw how small and dark it was. Duo shuffled back to make room, but it was a tight fit. Quatre felt his stomach clench when Duo pulled the door closed, forcing Quatre back into an unyielding expanse of chest. His sneaker nudged up against Duo's boot, which slid out of the way.

They waited, Quatre hardly daring to breathe. For a moment, nothing happened and he relaxed. They must not have been heading toward the infirmary after all. He shifted, making the door push open slightly. Duo pulled it back shut, the lock clasping out the thin sliver of light. He threw over the bolt. "Shh," his breath tickled Quatre's ear.

Shadows crossed the line of light under the door, the sound of feet shuffling quieter than the pounding blood in Quatre's ears. "I don't have time to deal with this," Doctor Richards's voice was sharp and clear, practically right in front of the door. Quatre jerked back into Duo, who moved back further and tucked his roommate in next to him. On the other side of the door, the audible sound of a cell phone being snapped open and shut made Quatre flinch. Duo understood and shifted further back, practically sitting on a mop bucket and a low shelf.

"Go wait in my office."

Footsteps, and then Richards's saying, "St. Francis Hospital? Room two…" he must have walked away quickly, because Quatre quickly lost the rest. Duo's hand brushed against his hip as he reached for the lock. Quatre blinked into the fluorescent lights as Duo peered out. "All clear," he whispered.

Neither one spoke until they were out of the closed ward and heaving sighs of relief. Duo laughed nervously and looked up at the intimidating, barred wall clock. "Ha! Still got time."

It was then Quatre realized Sandy was missing. The shock crept in on him slowly, like a cold fog descending. He whirled around in a circle, breath hitched. When had he last had his bear? He chewed at his lower lip as his middle curled around itself in knots. He definitely remembered having Sandy when they left group therapy. Lifting his eyes, Quatre realized Duo was staring at him with a puzzled look tinged sad with concern.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," Quatre said quickly. He made a quavering effort at a reassuring smile and must have succeeded, but Duo bought it and looked anxiously at the clock. Quatre jumped on the opportunity. "You don't want to be late."

"Right, I'll catch up with you later," Duo strode off at a brisk walk, making his braid bounce over his lower back as he moved.

Quatre waited until his roommate was out of sight before turning back into the restricted area. He moved quickly, with urgency, and heedless of any attention that may draw him. Retracing his and Duo's steps, Quatre spotted his bear right in front of the supply closet. Huge waves of relief nearly buckled his knees as Quatre knelt and scooped Sandy up to his chest.

His head jerked up at a sudden noise. He froze, deer in the headlights style, before realizing it had only been a door closing somewhere close. Clutching Sandy close, Quatre moved quietly back the way he had come. Getting caught now would be worse; he couldn't think of an excuse like Duo. Lying had never been one of his strong points. Voices sent him hurrying down a side corridor lined with locked doors; a few were open to show nothing but padded walls. Quatre felt a chill down his spine and quickened his pace.

An orderly suddenly stepped out into the hall. Quatre abruptly turned around. Maybe if he just acted like he was supposed to be there. He dug his hands into the plush fur to keep them from quavering. No voice shouted for him to stop, and Quatre quickly reached the main hallway once more. This time he kept walking, past more locked doors of the restricted ward. The tell-tale sound of heels against tile sent Quatre ducking into one of the few open rooms. Pressed against the stiff wall padding, he felt a gnawing sensation in his middle. It joined the butterflies already there.

Sneaking around was definitely not his thing. Quatre peeked out into the hall only to jerk his head back. The nurse stood where the halls intersected, fiddling with her hair. Her backed was turned. Quatre leaned his head back against the stiff, padded wall and considered his options. He came up with a huge blank expanse of worry.

When he glanced out of the little cell a few moments later, the nurse was gone. Pleased with another unexpected turn of good luck, Quatre stayed still for a moment but could hear no footsteps or voices. He tucked Sandy up under his arm and set out at a brisk walk, trying to remind himself to look natural.

The end of the hall loomed up in front of him, the tangible goal line within sight. He was almost there when Doctor Richards suddenly stepped out into view. Their eyes met, and Quatre slowed to a halt. Sneaking around was definitely not his strong suit.

-

-

Author's Notes: SUMMER VACATION IS HERE! I'm so excited, you have no idea. I went through alot to get this chapter out! I was like 75 done when my flash drive blew up and I lost ALL my work-in-progress files. Yeah, I screamed and flailed alot when it happened. I have a new, better, bigger flash drive and the damage isn't so severe. I just had to retype everything, which sucked. Then I had to hand-write because I couldn't get access to Ian's computer... ANYWAY! The important thing is that I got it done and I still have hand-written material left to type.

(Oh, and a huge thank you to everyone for being so understanding/encouraging! You guys are awesome and make me so motivated to write!)

One thing that may delay the next chapter is that tomorrow is my birthday, hooray! I'll be busy celebrating the rest of the week, starting tonight at midnight. It's the big 21.

Footnote: 'Nurse Ratched' is the head nurse from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  
I'd like to think Duo and Wufei would be the sort to read that book.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (check my profile for contact info)


	27. Confrontations

LSE // 5-21-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Seven - Confrontations)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Confrontations

-

Tuning out the lecture, which consisted mostly of "wandering" "foolish" and "disappointed," Quatre wished not for the first time for a hole to open up beneath his feet,. He trudged after Doctor Richards. Humiliation was the least of his concerns, but the flame in his cheeks burned anyway. Quatre bit down on Sandy's ear until concerns for tearing made him stop.

"And, of course, I'm docking points for this," the doctor fumed. They were fast approaching his office, and Quatre felt his stomach drop. This would get reported to Father. Richards pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door.

Zechs sat slumped in one of the folding chairs, and Richards looked momentarily thrown at seeing the boy. Quatre remembered what he and Duo had overheard earlier and mentally connected a few dots. Aquamarine eyes dove for the floor, the heat fading rapidly from his face.

Richards's lips formed a tight line. "Quatre, go sit down. I'll deal with the both of you in a minute." With that, the doctor left. The lock clicked softly, the sound barely audible in the silent office.

Quatre remained standing. From the fringes of his vision he saw Zechs get up and pace for a minute before sitting once more in a sprawl that put Duo's best to shame. The boy let out a long sigh. "Waste of my fucking time," he said loudly. "Why do you have that stupid bear?" Zechs asked after a long pause of silence. When Quatre still said nothing, the boy stood up with a dangerous sound, like a snarl.

Suddenly very aware of the locked door at his back, Quatre swallowed hard and clenched Sandy to his chest. "N-no reason," he stammered. To his great relief, Zechs sat back down. Quatre couldn't stop thinking about Wufei, dazed and bleeding.

"It's stupid," Zechs growled. "You're like what, twelve?"

Although always small for his age, Quatre realized the words were mocking. Zechs was staring at him expectantly. "Sixteen."

"Yeah, whatever. You look twelve. Fucking doctor. I should wreck his stuff."

Quatre didn't see the point in explaining Dorothy's earlier damage. A chair was just at the edge of his floor-study, and he hesitantly lowered himself into it. He could still see Zechs through the fringes of his bangs, but just the lower half. He focused on the boy's white sneakers with a trio of black stripes, a safe compromise between the floor and Zechs.

"What'd you do, pipsqueak? Get caught with contraband, or did you punch the snot out of some arrogant prick too? Ah, probably something boring. What's his problem, anyway."

The pause stretched, and Quatre realized abruptly that he was supposed to fill it. "What?"

"Did I stutter?" Zechs shot back. "I asked if you knew what the hell's wrong with Wufei."

His eyes slowly lifted up from sneakers to faded denim. "Um, he's g-got multiple personalities," Quatre offered.

Zechs made a sound in the back of throat like a laugh, only without mirth. His foot nudged at the carpet, and Quatre stared at it as his cheeks slowly burned with embarrassment. "Right, so, score one for the obvious, pipsqueak. You think I didn't fucking know that? I thought I could handle Miss Pigtails's ignoring me, but hell if I'm going to put up with some pompous idiot. You know what he had the gall to say to me?" Zechs's tone flipped up into a cloying imitation of Wufei, "'It would be best if you ceased association with Trieze and myself.' Like what the hell! He's the one who approached me. So I tell him that, and do you know what he said to me?"

Recognizing his cue, Quatre shook his head. He peeked up and found Zechs, for all his harshness, looked genuinely upset.

"That little arrogant snot told me that whatever 'perversions' I wanted to carry out, I could do them with someone else. What fucking nerve!" Zechs leapt up and started pacing furiously the length between his chair and the doctor's desk. "How dare he call me a pervert!" the blonde raged. Reaching the end of his pacing, Zechs lashed out and knocked the folding chair over with a well-placed kick. The metal clattered noisily against the carpet, making Quatre jump in his seat. Zechs jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glared down at the collapsed heap of chair.

The office door swung into the silence, making the hair on Quatre's neck stand on end. Zechs looked up, guilt clear across his face, and nudged the chair with his foot. Richard strode past him to the desk and hunted down a pad of paper. Both boys watched curiously as the doctor scribbled something down before looking up, surprising registering on his face.

"Right," he said, gesturing. "Come here, Quatre. Milliard, I've already docked points and notified Doctor G of your outburst. We agreed it'd be best if you stayed in the quiet room until after dinner."

The fight seemed to have gone out of the other boy, as he only gave the doctor a weak glare in response. An orderly and one of the nurses – unlike his friends, Quatre never bothered to remember any of their names; all the staff looked and acted the same, so he didn't see the point – came over to collect Zechs.

"Quatre, come here," Richards ordered again. He reluctantly complied, shuffling around Zechs. The nurse and orderly were hustling him out of the room, but as they past Quatre peeked up and caught Zechs staring at him.

Richards leaned up against his desk and, arms crossed, waited for the nurse to close the office door on her way out before speaking. "You've made a few improvements lately, and so I'm sad to see a step back like this. I've read through your file several times and your past doctors have consistently praised you for obeying all the rules. Outside a few outbursts now and then, you never once got into trouble at the clinic. But it seems ever since you've come here things have changed." Richards leaned forward so his face was level with Quatre's down turned one. "I wonder if it's a matter of influence."

The center of his stomach suddenly felt very hollow. Quatre lowered his head more and started identifying all the ugly colors in the carpet. The steel blue-grey clashed hideously against a sort of non-offensive burnt red.

"You and Duo are roommates, and friends, and you have the same therapists. I can see how you may feel obligated to imitate certain bad habit of his." Richards angled his head lower, trying to edge into Quatre's field of vision. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing to make friends, Quatre. I think it's a big step forward for you. You didn't seem to make any connections with the other patients at Clear Fields, did you? Just make you do what you want to do, okay?"

Quatre mumbled out an agreement. The pale tan sort of yellow almost worked against the blue/red, but he wondered if up close it clashed, too. The silence stretched and he slowly lifted up his eyes, accidentally meeting Richards's waiting look. The doctor smiled, the sight throwing Quatre off guard.

"I'm still docking points," Richards said. He straightened and was briskly all business again. "But I don't think you meant any harm, so this won't go in your record. I don't think Doctor G needs to know where I caught you wandering, either. Just be sure to stay out of the restricted areas from now on, all right?"

Quatre nodded and the doctor dismissed him with a gesture. Shuffling away from the desk, Quatre uneasily felt the doctor's eyes on the back of his neck as he filed out of the door. Half expecting to be called back for more lecturing, Quatre was amazed he'd gotten off so easily. He quickened his pace, eager to be on his way.

Back in the common area, Quatre swung by the nurse's station just in time to see the woman on duty wield her marker to change both his and Zechs's tallies down to six and four, respectively. Quatre had only nine points to begin with, but it surprised him Zechs didn't lose more. He remembered the padded cells of the restricted ward and felt a chill. Since there was still time left before Duo was due out of therapy, Quatre hunted down a quiet corner of the commons and curled up one of the armchairs.

A girl with long, lank brown hair and dark, circled eyes passed by and stared at some indeterminate point above his shoulder long enough for Quatre's skin to crawl before moving on. Other than that, no one came over to bother him. Most of the residents were in some kind of therapy or activity at this hour. Quatre rested his head on his knees. The long hours after lunch were always the worst, when Duo and Wufei usually had something going on. At least Trowa had usually been free.

Quatre thought of deep, troubled emerald eyes and the way Trowa so intensely focused on his face whenever they talked. He worried, not for the first time, about the tall, silent boy. How was he getting along with his sister? With a pang of guilt, Quatre found himself wishing that Trowa would—No, he blocked himself from thinking that. Good for Trowa, to be outside.

He must have dozed off into a nap, because a little while arguing voices startled him up into a sitting position. Duo and Wufei were sitting nearby and leaned in close over a game board. Wufei was loudly accusing Duo of having cheated. When Quatre scrambled upright, the discussion broke off and Duo grinned over at him. "Your hair's all tousled. It's really cute."

Blushing, Quatre smoothed it down and only earned a teasing laugh for his efforts. A thin strip of bandaged crossed over the arch of Wufei's nose under his glasses, but the mottled bruises had faded down slightly around his right eye. It cast a rough polish over the glare he was giving Duo. "It's a shame, really, that you're so intimidated by me you have to cheat," Wufei huffed. He switched the position of their game tokens and rolled the dice.

Duo pushed back in his chair and waved one hand grandly. "I admit defeat, then. I'm just no match for you. I'll just have to find some other way to get the story out of you."

"Oh, so now you're just going to give up? You are such a flake, Maxwell." Contrary to his words, however, Wufei seemed pleased as he started to pack the game away.

"I bet Waffles here that if I won he'd have to tell, verbatim, the mysterious insult that riled Zechs up enough to give him the shiner he's sporting." Duo explained.

Wufei looked up sharply at the nickname, cheeks flushing as he snapped out, "He's a brute."

"I talked to him," Quatre piped up. Duo's face swung toward him, eyes lighting up. He nervously watched Wufei for a reaction. "He was really mad."

"When did you run into Zechs?" Wufei demanded. "He's locked up in the quiet room."

"Richards's office."

Duo started shuffling a deck of well-worn playing cards. "Why were you in there?"

"Um," Quatre hesitated. Duo set the cards down on the table once Wufei had the other game cleared off. He leaned in and cut the deck. "I got caught wandering. Anyway Zechs was in there, too, and he told me what you said, Wufei."

Wufei made a 'harumph' sort of sound and looked away. "What's it matter? He still overreacted."

"Ha!" Duo started dealing out the cards. "Now you're backpedaling. You're not going to sit there and let Quatre rat you out, are you?"

Wufei snatched up his cards. "It's not my fault Trieze is a stupid flirt! I told him in no unconditional terms that such actions were inappropriate, unsuitable and, and…" Flustered and running out of synonyms, Wufei dropped several of his cards and gathered them back up with the fronts facing out. He was holding the ten and seven of spades.

Duo gave him an incredulous look. "You broke up with Zechs on Trieze's behalf?"

Shuffling his cards back around, Wufei avoided looking at Duo. Quatre regretted mentioning his talk with Zechs now; he hadn't realized Wufei would be so embarrassed about it. It was too late to take it back now, however. Cards all faced around properly, Wufei blatantly stalled as he rearranged them. "In not so many words, I guess you might call it that."

"I'm still spitting in his food next chance I get. Do you have any sevens?" Duo feigned surprise when Wufei forked over his card. "Q, any sevens?"

Shaking his head, Quatre let a few rounds go by before mentioning Zechs again. "He thinks you insulted him. He was really mad."

"I was calm and rational, given the circumstances," Wufei squared his shoulders and drew a card. "Maxwell, give me your sevens."

"Lame," Duo protested, passing over three cards. "What'd Zechsy have to be insulted about, anyway? You didn't call him a stupid flirt, too, did you?"

They both stared Quatre down until he reluctantly relayed his conversation with Zechs, which was really more of him being in the firing line of a rant. Wufei's face was bright red when he finished, and he refused to look at either of them. He shuffled the four cards he was holding several times over. "I did not call him a pervert. The word I used was 'perversions.' and it was a description of his actions, not himself. He overreacted," Wufei rushed the words out and looked at friends defiantly, as if daring them to respond.

Duo just laughed. "Semantics, Wufei. He probably thought you were calling him a homo-perv."

Flushing hotly, Wufei dropped all his cards on the floor and had to scramble to gather them back. Duo shamelessly tried to peek. "I was not!" Wufei protested. "It doesn't matter who he – That is, what sex – I don't have a problem – That's not the point!" He gripped the cards hard enough to bend them. "He overreacted!"

When Duo still just only laughed, Wufei's flush deepened into a boiling crimson. He stood abruptly, abandoning his cards. "It's not funny!" he protested sharply, tone cutting through Duo's laugh. Amethysts seemed to focus directly on the bruises around Wufei's eye, and Duo gaped like a fish for a few seconds, trying to process some kind of response. Wufei's stance lost some of its defiance and, with a quick, mumbled apology, he left.

Duo leaned forward and spread out Wufei's cards, lying forgotten on the table. "Damn! I was going to ask for jacks next, too."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Quatre came back from his individual session, the fight between Wufei and Zechs had been picked up by the hospital gossip circle and somehow been escalated beyond the truth. He overheard Dorothy regaling a clustered group of girls about how six orderlies and three nurses had been required to separate the two. Wufei bounced between being described as "pummeled beyond recognition" or, in some versions, he rallied and executed a few flying scissor kicks to Zechs's sternum, breaking "half his ribs and three vertebrae" Wufei, holed up somewhere in the library, glared down anyone who tried to ask questions. Zechs, locked up in the quiet room (or, secretly rushed to the city hospital in some versions), was naturally unavailable for comment.

Wufei resurfaced for dinner and trudged over to their usual table. Quatre scooted over to make room for him, but Wufei instead sat next to Duo, who beamed stupidly for the next five minutes. "Don't worry," Duo assured him. He threw an arm around Wufei, who tolerated it with a half-hearted glare. "The rumors will die down soon. Eventually people will realize reality is always more benign and trivial than they think."

They talked little during dinner, Wufei being abnormally quiet and Duo compensating by rambling on one tangent before falling quiet and then suddenly picking up another topic a few minutes later. Quatre's attention wandered around the cafeteria and uneasily caught several people staring at them; specifically, Wufei. Dorothy, seated a few tables over and conspicuously without Relena, finished a lively retelling of the events and met Quatre's gaze through the crowd. She gave him a wink.

Duo sculpted his mashed potatoes into a plausible likeness of a cat and borrowed some of Wufei's peas to give the creature big, green eyes. Quatre complimented the work and earned an ear-to-ear grin in return. Wufei said nothing, not even a scolding for waste of food. That knocked some of the cheer out of Duo's grin, and for a brief moment Quatre saw worry flitting across his roommate's face. Duo smashed the cat down with his fork.

The rambunctious cafeteria slowly careened into silence, so subtly that when Quatre kicked Duo under the table to get his attention, the boy's answering "What?" seemed like a gunshot. The silence only lasted a few seconds before scaling up into the dim buzz of a hundred whispers. Wufei hunched low into his seat, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped; over at the far end of the cafeteria, Zechs collected his tray and seemed to glare down the entire patient population at the same time.

"What an entrance," Duo said, tone almost admiring. He patted Wufei's shoulders, the touch seeming to scrunch the boy down even further in his chair. "Like I said, it'll be over soon."

Quatre, the lone occupant of his side of the table, whispered a play-by-play of Zechs's movements to his friends. "He's looking at us. He's coming this way." Wufei was practically eye-level with the edge of the table.

Twisting around in his seat, Duo took up the commentary. "Watch out, Wufei, he's coming… Oh, false alarm, he found an empty table. He's sitting at the empty table now. He's eating his dinner roll." Duo grimaced suddenly. "That was my foot, Waffle—OW!"

Without a word, Wufei set his roll on Quatre's plate and pie slice on Duo's before gathering up his tray and leaving. Duo's face lit up with glee at the sight of an extra dessert, but fell again when Wufei stalked off in a huff with this tray. Quatre abandoned chasing his peas around and bit a large piece off the roll, and then nearly choked on it when Wufei, after putting his tray up, made a bee line for Zechs. They watched, horrified as the scene unfolded. Zechs looked up and visibly steeled himself; patients at surrounding tables elbowed each other into hushed whispers and then silence.

Wufei suddenly stopped walking. He took off his glasses. Duo gave an exaggerated sigh of relief when Meiran turned on a heel and marched out of the cafeteria, head held high despite most of the room staring at her. She snapped the last pigtail into place before disappearing out the door. Duo started up his incessant ramble, but Quatre was too distracted by the unexpected look of disappointment of Zechs's face to listen.

-

-

Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes! I had one of the best birthdays I've ever had in my entire life. I can't believe I'm 21, either. Time sure flies...  
Yes, so, in response to mass-demand, a few questions from the last two chapters got answered. Expect more answers in the next chapter, which I hope to have out very soon. (hopefully) Everyone's reviews have been so encouraging! I regret not having more time to write.  
I'm going to Akon in Dallas, June 1st through 3rd, so I'm very busy trying to earn money to pay for all the 1x2 doujinshi I plan on getting. If anyone's going to be at the con, let me know! I'd love to meet. Drop me a line at my LJ (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	28. Departure

LSE // 5-23-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Eight - Departure)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi 

Departure

-

They were watching television when Trieze perched himself on the arm of Quatre's chair. Legs crossed delicately at the ankle, Trieze waited until he had their rapt attention before giving a toss of his head and greeting them. Duo gave a distracted response, eyes darting back to the television program. On the screen, the contest bumbled through the final response. Duo jumped out of his chair and gave an overly theatric, "No! You fool! The answer was Switzerland!" The cry drew stares from nearby patients. A girl in the corner drooled over her shirt.

Quatre turned his head, but Trieze had vanished just as easily as he'd approached. He half-stood, catching sight of the boy over the plexi-partition separating out the T.V. nook. "Duo…" he warned in a low voice. Duo was fully involved with the television. Quatre snagged his roommate's arm and repeated his name over and over until the older boy looked at him. "Zechs," Quatre said simply.

Duo's head swiveled around. "What's Wufei doing?"

"No," Quatre urged. He bounced nervously on his toes. "Trieze. I think he's…"

But Duo was already up and moving. Trieze snuck up on Zechs and, to his friends' mutual horror, threw his hands over the boy's eyes. Zechs flailed his arms for a moment before Trieze backed away and looked up with an expectant smirk. Duo grabbed Quatre and they ducked behind one of the half-walls. Ice-blue eyes looked everywhere but at Trieze as Zechs said several lengthy things which they couldn't hear, but had the effect of slapping the smile off the other boy's face.

Recovering quickly, Trieze tossed his head and reached for Zechs, but the older boy took a quick step back and shook his head, the long, pale fall of hair dancing. The hand fell to his side and formed a fist. Zechs stuck his hands into his pockets and took off, long, lean legs carrying him quickly out of the room. That left Trieze standing there with several stares directed his way. The boy defiantly glared at them, individually and collectively, and made a rude gesture to Zechs's retreating back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_-July 29th 9:37pm  
What the hell is going on here? I leave your shit alone, you leave mine alone. That's the rule. Don't try and pretend you don't know anything about it. I asked around and everyone says that in group today you fought with Milli and he ended up punching you. I want to know exactly what you said to him. You absolut jerk he won't even talk to me now. Futhermore no one will tell me what you said not even Duo and he's the worst gossip around._

Meiran twirled the pen around in her hand as she read. Thick, dark lines of Trieze's angry, erratic writing sketched across the page. As if the tone wasn't enough, the grammar and spelling mistakes stood out to her like red beacons; Trieze was livid. Not that she cared. All for the better, as far as Meiran was concerned, that Wufei finally put his foot down. She turned the page to Wufei's carefully constructed reply.

_-July 30th 10:20am  
Therapy with S was uneventful. We discussed fighting and the negative outcomes of violence. I agreed that neither are appropriate responses, which seemed to please the doctor. Although it was not my intention to interfere with your affairs, my actions did unfortunately seem to cause a rift between you and Peacecraft. At risk of sounding cliché, however, you started it. At the sentence evaluation hearing your actions were brought up to negatively reflect on myself. I simply took steps to protect myself. As to what I said, that will remain between Peacecraft and myself. Also I have noticed a marked improvement in Maxwell. Winner seems more assertive at times but at others quieter. He seems to miss Barton very much. I worry about them._

Chewing on the nubbed end of her pen, Meiran thought a long time before making her entry. Long lines of looping cursive flowed out across the page.

_-July 30th 11:35am  
Both of you shut up. Trieze, you're a selfish jerk. Wufei, you're an insensitive fool. You're even, so stop sulking! I don't want to read another word about it. We've been through this before and I'm sick of getting stuck in the middle. It's Wufei's decision and you just have to deal with it!_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The week passed smoothly despite the chaotic start. Group therapy livened up briefly when Richards tried to bring Wufei and Zechs's scuffle out into the open, but the boys simply sat on opposite ends of the circle and politely refused to talk about it. Duo expressed distrust at Zechs's seeming acceptance of the situation; he insisted the boy had to be plotting something. Several times Quatre caught Zechs watching them from across the circle, or across the cafeteria. To Dorothy's great delight, the tall, handsome blonde now sat between her and Relena, who was less than pleased. Zechs seemed to turn on the charm, however, and her frequent threats to have her father get Zechs transferred ceased.

The swelling around Wufei's eye had faded down to dark gold shadows before long, to the boy's evident relief, before vanishing entirely. Duo lamented that they'd given Wufei a tough, hard-boiled image and earned an hour's cold silence in return, broken only by Wufei rubbing a Scrabble victory into his friend's face. Quatre had tried to use his own name on a triple-word score and been disqualified.

Trieze sulked, and several times tried to strike up conversation with Zechs, who always and politely turned him down. As far as he overheard, Zechs never once blamed Wufei or fully explained the situation. This made Quatre feel a little sorry for Trieze, right up until he and Dorothy played keep away with Sandy. The bear ended up getting confiscated by a nurse and Quatre's reaction landed him in the quiet room for a few hours. He spent the time chewing all his nails down to the quick.

The only upside was he missed individual therapy and, when released, could go straight to dinner. Joining the end of the line, Quatre shuffled forward to load his tray up with macaroni surprise – he really, really didn't want to know what made it a surprise – and a few apple slices since they'd run out of cookies three people in front of him. Weaving around tables to get to their usual spot, Quatre was surprised to find only Wufei sitting there. On the bench next to him was Sandy.

Soon as his tray was on the table, Quatre scooped his bear up. Hugging the soft, plush body made him forget about the empty, padded cell. "Where's Duo?"

Wufei chewed for several moments, and then swallowed before replying, "I don't know. He might be getting ready for tomorrow. I got your bear back for you."

"Thank you."

He shrugged. "Wasn't that hard. I just explained Trieze was a belligerent bully. Made the nurse laugh, anyway. You okay, now?"

Quatre nodded, embarrassed, and they ate in companionable silence. The surprise seemed to be that this was just last night's macaroni and cheese with seasoned beef added. Fridays were almost always rehashed or modified leftovers. Wufei cleared up his tray and stood. "See you later." Quatre mumbled a response around a mouthful of pasta. It wasn't until after Wufei had left he realized his apples had been swapped out for a cookie.

Quatre ate quickly and took the cookie with him, munching on it as he filed out from the cafeteria. A supervising orderly gave him look, however, so Quatre ate the rest very quickly to avoid trouble. Richards was already mad at him because on Wednesday, instead of sharing their inner emotions, he and Duo had played a clapping game they'd picked up from the girls. And G had to be mad Quatre'd missed individual today, but that was hardly his fault. Quatre pushed his worries aside and hummed the little rhyme that went with the game. If he could find Duo, they could practice. Relena and Dorothy boasted they were better coordinated, and Duo had bet a week's worth of desserts otherwise.

Not finding Duo in the common area, Quatre made one final circuit of the room before heading down the hall. Drifting out of the open door to their room was the sound of drawers being jerked open and slammed shut. Quatre stopped humming at the sight that greeted him; Duo stood in the middle of the room, an open duffle bag at his feet, with clothes and belongings sprawled over every flat surface, even Quatre's bed. As he watched, Duo got a great armful of clothes out of the top dresser drawer before slamming it shut with his hip. He dumped the clothes on to the floor and started kicking them everywhere.

Sandy bounced off his sneaker.

Quatre's breath hitched.

Duo turned around, and Quatre's knees nearly gave out in relief. His roommate looked pissed, but not crazy. Not like he had that one night.

He scrambled to collect Sandy and tentatively crossed into the room. Duo whirled back around and started stuffing several pairs of black jeans into his duffle. "Go away," he said, not bothering to look at Quatre.

Tempted as he was to do just that, Quatre instead stepped further into the room. "Wh-what're you…?"

"Moving out." Duo started reaching for shirts. "Apparently I'm a bad influence," he spat the words out bitterly.

Richards's words floated back around to haunt him. Quatre felt his stomach drop. "I—I didn't, um, that is, it wasn't me – I don't think."

Duo stood, a black shirt clutched in one hand. Quatre retreated hastily, stumbling over his feet. "You know, whatever. We both get our room this way. Fuck Dickie for being a stupid, pompous—FUCK!" Duo gave his duffle a kick that sent it flying under the bed. "I hate this place!" He knelt and dragged the bag out by its strap.

Every instinct told him to flee, but instead Quatre edged into the room and started folding the clothes strewn over his bed. He made a stack of shirts and a stack of pants. Duo paced the narrow space between their beds and muttered a nonstop tirade against Doctor Richards, Doctor G, every nurse he could name, quite a few of the orderlies, and even one of the janitors. He was halfway through a scathing critique of the head nurse's injection procedure when Wufei appeared in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing?" Wufei's eyes were round as they took in the scene before him. They tinged toward sudden fear. "Are you running away again? You're not being very subtle if you are. Winner, stop helping him. Maxwell, I absolutely—"

"Shut up," Duo growled. The harsh tone snapped Wufei's mouth shut and colored his cheeks red.

Quatre jumped in before they could start fighting. "He has to move out."

"Dickie passed down all mighty judgment from on high that I am a corrupting and potentially damaging influence to dear, sweet Quatre. So instead of forcing blondie here out into a new room, I booted from my room! My room! I was here first! I've been here! I like this room. I like this hallway! This is such fucking bullshit I don't know where to start!"

"Well, pissing all over your friends isn't the place," Wufei responded coolly. He picked a few sweaters off the floor and set them on the bed. Quatre promptly started folding them.

"Yeah, well, I'd go piss all over Dickie but I get the feeling he'd come up with some even more hideous punishment. He is such a fucking bastard."

Wufei set about gathering up more clothes, which Duo had managed to fling all over the small room. He pulled a pair of boxers off the corner of Duo's nightstand and held them gingerly by one corner before suddenly flushing darkly. "These are mine."

"You weren't using 'em. Man, this is such fucking bullshit!"

"You've said that," Wufei shot his friend a disapproving look. "Profanity isn't going to help this situation."

"Fucking makes me fucking feel a fuck of a fucking lot better." Duo paused. "Fuckity fuck fuck—"

"Pack your own damn bags!" Wufei snapped, storming out of the room with the boxers in hand. Duo watched him go with a gloating smile before it drooped down. From the way he stood there scowling at the door, Quatre realized he fully expected Wufei to come back. Duo reminded him a petulant child sometimes.

Duo flopped on to his bed and yanked the nightstand drawer open. From it he pulled out handfuls of elastic hair ties, two different hairbrushes and a comb. He tossed them in the direction of the duffle, the ties naturally just exploding into a piled mess between the beds. The comb, at least, fumbled its way into the open bag. One of the brushes bounced up against Quatre's ankle, and he had to step quickly to avoid breaking it. Duo dug further into the drawer and sorted through the knick-knacks and other little things he had accumulated. Broken pieces of pastels, charcoal and pencils rained down on to the carpet as Duo made a mess of everything.

Quatre quietly pulled open the second of Duo's dresser drawers and wasn't at all surprised to find the clothes just stuffed in at random, shirts and socks nestled among towels and underwear. Quatre kept up his folding and sorting in the sudden silence, as Duo's outburst had stopped with Wufei leaving. Near the bottom of the drawer he found something curious, a green tank top that he'd never seen Duo wear. It seemed a little too small for him, anyway. Quatre pulled it out and started to fold it up anyway, but suddenly Duo was right there and yelling as he snatched the top out of the smaller boy's hands.

"Don't touch that! Give it to me! This is mine! Leave all my stuff alone!" Duo clutched the top to his chest and regarded Quatre balefully. "Get out!"

Too shocked to fight back the sudden tears that sprung to his eyes, Quatre scarcely remembered to snatch Sandy off the bed before fleeing. Chin tucked firmly on top his bear's head, Quatre started walking at random. The floor passed under him in a blur, taking him in a circuit from the linoleum hallway to the carpeted commons, through the T.V. nook and back down the other residential hallway.

He made three such circuits before a nurse finally stopped and kindly asked if he was all right. Despite his frenetic nods otherwise, she kept such a close eye on him that Quatre reluctantly found an empty armchair by the television to settle in. He and another patient, a rather overweight girl in flannel pajamas, watched old black and white cartoons with the volume turned so low it might as well have been muted. The girl kept trying to turn the volume up, only every time she did an orderly would step in and fix it.

When lights out rolled around and Quatre was forced back to his room, Duo was gone and so was all his stuff. The other side of the room stood out, stark, empty and silent. Quatre curled up under the covers and hugged his knees close. And then he cried himself to sleep, using loud, wracking sobs that went unanswered.

-

-

Author's Notes: Excuse me while I victory-dance! Haha! Okay, sorry, I'm just thrilled to back on pace with the story and everything. Seems a little rude to be so happy when Quatre's so sad, actually. Oops.  
Kirihana, your comment made me so happy! I actually didn't read it until just a few minutes ago, so the cookie-swap above was an unintentional homage. Everyone else's comments also made me quite happy. I'm very giddy with praise right now! Makes me very happy that I didn't make everyone wait forever for the next chapter.  
I forgot what else I was going to say...

Oh yeah! I know I mentioned it in prose, but the mistakes in Trieze's journal entry are quite intentional. Spell-check kept gnawing at me and tricked me three times into fixing them... I also put the entries in italics since that makes them a little easier to differentiate from the prose. At least, I hope so.

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	29. Caught in the Middle

(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Twenty Nine - Caught in the Middle)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Caught in the Middle

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Duo smoothed the fabric over the bed, admiring the contrast of the green fabric against the dull steel of the crisp sheets, extra starch, no iron. He'd been assigned laundry for three straight weeks at school. All Heero's fault, too. No matter; he'd shrunk the boy's shirt in retaliation. He folded the top in half and stared at the neat clothing columns dotting Quatre's bed. Time to start packing.

Duo upended his duffle and a rain of his possessions tumbled out on to the floor. He swept them aside and jammed stacks of clothes in at al time. The green tank top went in last. Damn Heero for being such an accidental do-gooder all the freaking time, too. Wufei and Quatre had that same annoying characteristic. That was one of the reasons why Duo felt he and Treize got along so well. They both had the moral fortitude of sponges. No, that was why he liked Trowa best. Trowa judged no one.

It depressed him that all his worldly possessions fit into his large army-style duffle. At least the sides bulged, straining at the zippers and warping the olive canvas around the interlocked metal. His favorite hairbrush stuck out of the side pouch and jutted into his side when he hauled the bag up and looped the strap over his shoulder. The orphanage had so ever helpfully supplied him with the stupid duffle in the first place, and his clothes and meager belongings had rattled around inside when he was first sent away.

His new room assignment was further down the same hallway. Duo realized he should have just carried his things in big heaping armfuls. Now he had to unpack. He rudely glared at a passing patient; the boy drooled back at him. Touché, kid. Duo slung his bag into the room, the heavy thing making a loud 'whoomp' noise against the floor. His hairbrush toppled out from its precarious position and disappeared under the far bed.

Squeaking and groaning in protest, the nubbed legs of the twin bed skittered over the floor as Duo heaved his weight against it, driving the bed across the room to its mate. The dresser, despite being empty, refused to budge, forcing Duo to do some creative furniture arranging to get the beds pushed up into the far corner. He sprawled across the resulting double-bed, ignoring the crack down the center, and basked in accomplishment.

Now, ideally, if he could only get the dresser over where the extra bed used to be, by the door, and the nightstands stayed against the far wall, he'd have a cozy set up. Duo eyed the dresser; surely he and Wufei together could manage. Oh, yeah, Wufei was pissed at him again. The do-gooder. Don't curse, don't cheat at cards, don't have any fun 'cause I'm Wufei and I know everything and I'm such a fucking overbearing prick. Yeah. The dresser could just stay where it was.

Duo shoved jeans and boxers into one of the drawers, followed by socks, not even bothering to keep Quatre's neat folds in order. Into the top drawer went his personal effects, a depressingly small collection of several battered, second-hand books held together by numerous rubber bands and stuffed with loose papers, a few trinkets, and various things either gifted to him or borrowed indefinitely. Duo plucked one of the books, the complete works of Poe, out of the drawer. The cover depended entirely on three thick rubber bands to keep the pages together, and when he opened it several loose pages fell out, including the entirety of The Cask of Amontillado, his favorite story, no doubted loosened by repeated readings.

Buried near the back of the book, nestled firmly between Shadow – A Parable and Silence – A Fable, the steel glower of Heero loomed up at him from a Polaroid, the edges worn to fuzz and one crease marring the boy's face. The crease was from Heero's failed attempts to intercept the photo; Duo had responded by storing the picture down the front of his pants. Heero had ignored him for the rest of the week. Duo smiled, remembering. No one could hold a grudge like Heero, not even Wufei.

Duo replaced the fallen pages and bound the book back up, securing the rubber bands into the notched worn into the cover. The green tank top, followed by the rest of his shirts and sweaters, buried his personal effects. A thick stack of notebooks, sketchbooks and paper went into the nightstand along with his assortment of hair ties and brushes. He kicked the emptied duffle under the bed.

"You got this done faster than I thought you would," came Wufei's voice. Duo turned to see his friend standing in the doorway, eyes roaming. "They're not going to be happy with the furniture being moved, you know."

"What, not feng shui enough?" Duo snapped.

"I see you're still being as charming as ever." Wufei disdainfully took a few steps into the room and ran the tip of his finger along the edge of the dresser.

Duo glowered at him from the bed. "Do you have a reason for being here?"

High spots of color bloomed across the boy's face. His dark eyes snapped coldly in contrast. "As I said before, Maxwell, taking your anger out on your friends is—"

"Can the fucking lecture, Wufei. I don't want to hear it. A lecture on sanity from the biggest mental fuck-up in here is really way too fucking annoying. I've had enough of it." Duo took a step forward and was rewarded with the younger boy hesitantly retreating. "I envy your fucking ignorance, sometimes. You have no idea just how fucking crazy you are, do you?"

Wufei held himself stiffly, chin lifted in defiance even as his troubled eyes betrayed his doubt. "I don't think—"

"Do you?" he demanded, advancing again. Wufei held his ground this time. Duo sneered. "Fucking ignorance is bliss after all, I guess. Some of us don't have that luxury, so get the fuck out of my room. I'm sick of looking at you. I'm sick of your Goddamn sanctimonious harping. Fucking hypocrite!" Duo took a step forward, this time succeeding in driving Wufei toward the door. "Fucking lunatic!"

Wufei's features wavered, bold defiance loosing rapid ground to a quavering lower lip. "Don't--"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Duo lashed out, shoving Wufei the last few steps out the door. The boy stood in the hallway, shoulders slumped. Duo laughed, low and mirthless. "You really have no idea how fucking pathetic you are."

"Duo…"

"Leave me the hell alone." Duo slammed the door shut on the pitiable sight, hardening his heart against a sudden, nagging doubt. He looked at the empty room. That's right. He wanted to be alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joining the queue of yawning, groggy patients, Quatre resisted the urge to yawn himself. Despite a thorough scrubbing in the shower, his face felt botched and sticky from tears. He slid his tray down the line to receive a scoop each of yellow, blobby eggs and lumpy, grey oatmeal. They slid together into a most unappetizing mess in the center of his plate. He passed on the greasy, limp strips of bacon and instead took a few squat links of sausage. The man passing out milk cartons gave him both a plain and a chocolate, and Quatre's mood lifted considerably.

At least until he searched out the usual table and found it completely abandoned. He started hesitantly toward it, guilty relief gnawing at him that Duo had either already eaten or was still asleep. Half-way to the table, he spotted Meiran, hair pulled up in pigtails, sitting with Relena, Dorothy and, of all people, Zechs. Quatre started to veer that way, but a bump from behind made him fumble his tray. The plate of eggs and oatmeal upended to the floor, splattering down with a wet, disgusting noise. His sausages bounced off the plate and stuck into the oozing puddle of lumpy oats. The milk cartons, fortunately, were unharmed. Quatre stared down at his breakfast in shock.

Turning to see who had bumped him, Quatre caught a glimpse of swinging braid against black before two orderlies descended on him, fussing over the mess and blaming him for wasting food. One sharply criticized Sandy as "one too many things to carry" while the other threw away both the milk cartons along with the ruined food. Quatre was sent to find a mop and, by the time he had the floor cleaned up satisfactorily and made it through the line, they were out of chocolate milk and everything but cereal and oatmeal.

Hot, angry tears blurred his vision and he thumped his tray down at the nearest empty table. Cereal sloshed out of the bowl. He attacked it, hardly bothering to chew the flakes so he could eat them before they turned soggy. The cafeteria had emptied of all but the last few stragglers, sleepy yawns punctuating gobbled bites. One rail-thin girl was nibbling on a piece of toast as if it pained her with a sharp-eyed nurse looming over her shoulder; Quatre recognized that sort of treatment. Girls with eating disorders had been nearly half the population of his old clinic.

Clearing away his breakfast, Quatre ventured out into the common area and walked a few circuits of the room. Talking animatedly to a dull-eyed, drooling boy over a game of Connect Four was Duo, who seemed to be winning. The two ex-roommates stiffly ignored each other as Quatre waking past, giving Duo's feet a wide berth to avoid getting tripped. Quatre remembered Duo's usual lack of points and made a beeline for the library. The nurse on duty checked the clipboard at her station and waved him on through into the quiet little sanctum. Tall shelves smelled faintly of paper and dust, which made a rather pleasant combination. Quatre peaked at her clipboard as she wrote down his name and saw Wufei's just above his own.

Quatre wandered down the aisles looking for either an interesting book or Wufei, whichever came first. The end of the library was dominated by one long table and a cluster of soft armchairs, framed by tall windows that let in a dreary grey light. Rain flecked down into the grass outside. Moving furiously along side the windows was Wufei, pacing in a tight circle, every so often looking up at the clock on the far wall.

Wufei gave a grunting acknowledgement when Quatre emerged out from the aisles and tentatively took a seat at the table. A couple of books were scattered over it, including one hefty encyclopedia which he idly flipped through. Wufei continued pacing, and finally Quatre had to ask in a small voice, "How are you?"

"Fine," Wufei snapped. Quatre flinched back and the other boy winced, visibly forcing himself to stop moving. His hands twitched irritably at his side, though, as he stared out the window. His eyes eventually went back up to the clock.

"Are you… waiting for something?"

"No," Wufei colored hotly. "Why would you think that?" He glared up at the clock and paced a little more before coming to a quick halt. He dragged one of the chairs out from the table and sat, but only for a few minutes before jumping back up and walking over to the window. "Expecting any visitors?"

"Mmm, no," Quatre thought about it for a moment. "Iria would've gone home already and she's the only one— I mean, the rest are too busy. Are… you?"

Instead of answering however, Wufei came back over and sat down. "Do you think he'll come?" he threw the question out like an accusation. Quatre just stared at him in confusion before Wufei clarified. "I hope he does, with Duo in the mood he's in I bet it'll be enough to keep him away for a while."

Only Heero could elicit just disdain from the usually calm Wufei. Quatre bit his lip and shrugged. He picked at Sandy's round eye for a moment, digging a fingernail between the plastic and the fur. "Duo thinks it's my fault he had to move."

"Oh, fuck him," Wufei bit the words out like acid. Quatre gaped at him. Wufei's hands were knotting themselves up in his lap, which jostled from one foot he tapped incessantly against the floor. Quatre had never seen him this tightly wound. He was a little afraid of what would happen with all that tension was released.

Quatre searched around for something more to say, but before he could Wufei suddenly leapt to his feet, face swiveling toward the front of the library. He took off, and Quatre followed after a second's hesitation. He'd barely cleared the second aisle when Wufei came thundering back. A skinny girl stood giving her name to the library nurse. So, clearly not whom or whatever Wufei was waiting for so impatiently.

When Quatre got back to the table, however, it was a pensive Meiran he found staring out the window, hair already pulled up and Wufei's glasses sticking out of her pocket. She turned a little as he sat down, but didn't say anything. She looked just as anxious as Wufei had been, but hers was a much calmer worry. She chewed determinedly at her thumbnail; the other nails had already been worn down to the quick. As Quatre watched, horribly fascinated, she features vanished abruptly into Treize's cool demeanor. The pigtails came down, and Treize carried a nonchalance the other two personalities lacked. He started to say something to Quatre, but just as quickly Wufei was back, pacing wildly and glasses crooked.

Unsure of what to do, Quatre looked through the encyclopedia again. Despite the thick size, it was one of those illustrated children's versions. He stopped when Wufei sat once more, and was startled to find the boy's inky eyes staring directly at him, face suddenly very serious. "Winner, you can't take what Maxwell says very seriously. Don't let him make you feel responsible. Maybe it's better if you stay clear of him for a while. I think the doctors had the right idea, separating you two. Listen," Wufei hesitated, brows darting together. "I want you to know—"

Breaking the sentence off abruptly, Wufei stood again and began pacing up the length of the windows and back down again, face and flickering too quickly through the three for Quatre to keep track. Treize would stop walking, but Meiran and Wufei both paced. She would start chewing on her nails, but just as quickly Wufei would lower his hands. The sight scared Quatre, nearly as much as Wufei's serious speech had. What had he meant, staying clear of Duo? With a shudder, Quatre remembered the last time he'd been warned against taking Duo very seriously, that he wasn't a danger. His skin crawled, and Quatre drew his legs up into the chair as he watched, too fascinated to look away and too horrified to say anything, as Wufei fell apart on him.

-

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Author's Notes: Wah, I'm the worst author with the best readers! I don't deserve your patience, but thank you so much for it. Sadly you owe this chapter mostly to Ian waking me up at 7:30 this morning. That son of a biscuit, I'm still pissed at him for it. Oh well, at least something productive came of it.

What's with Wufei? Will the friends be friends again? You'll have to wait to find out, but hopefully not wait too long! (I know, I always say that, but I really mean it this time!) I'm going to cut this short with just another HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you for everyone's patience and dedication, you guys are the best and I don't deserve you.

Right-o. Back to work!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	30. Expected and Unexpected

LSE // 08-13-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings: Chapter Thirty –Expected and Unexpected)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Expected and Unexpected

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The episode lasted for over an hour, with no personality in control for more than a few minutes. The longest was when Meiran went to the bathroom and came back as Treize, who started to pick up a choose-your-own-adventure book from the table before Wufei gravitated back over to the window. Eventually, Wufei calmed down and sat down next to him again, hands knotting together as he spoke, in a rapid, clipped voice. "I want you to know," he started, as if nothing had happened in the meantime, "that should anything. I mean, if. If it comes down to just you and Maxwell left, the girls. That is, Darlian and Catalonia, they're very nice. I think you would get along with them."

"What do you mean?" Quatre asked at once, alarmed. His stomach clenched painfully. "Just me and D-Duo left? Are you g-going somewhere?"

The sudden panic on Wufei's face mirrored his own. Instead of answering, Wufei went still except for one lone twitching motion of his finger, clawing against his knee. He leaned back in the chair, a sudden, haughty look on Treize's face as he said confidently, "No."

And then back to Wufei, pale and twitchy, foot tapping against the leg of Quatre's chair. "I don't know," he said quietly, anguish filling the words. So it was this not-knowing, Quatre realized, that had Wufei so tied up.

Cheeks the blotchy sort of red that preceded crying, Wufei jumped up and started pacing again in a much smaller circle, eyes glued to the clock. The minute hand was creeping ever so slowly forward, just now passing the seven on its way to the top. Quatre sat quietly, just watching as Wufei tried to wear a bald circle into the industrial carpet. At five till eleven, the nurse came back to kick them out. Despite his frenetic time-watching, Wufei seemed surprised it was lunch.

Quatre was happy to join the front of the line, still bitter about his breakfast. Wufei paid little attention to the menu and wound up without dessert or anything to drink. Having braved a smile with his order, Quatre received an extra chocolate milk again from the same sympathetic worker, and he set it on Wufei's tray when the boy wasn't looking. Instead of going to their usual table, Wufei simply plunked down at the first open spot and started mechanically chewing at his sandwich.

As he sat facing the lunch line, Quatre saw when Duo came in, late as usual. They resolutely ignored eye contact, however, and Duo went to go sit with a crowd of boys Quatre didn't know but recognized as Doctor G's group session. They seemed to be engaged in a lively roast of the doctor, which Duo joined with enthusiasm. Quatre looked back to Wufei, and was surprised to see a stocky boy with a twisted nose glaring down at the two of them. Oblivious, Wufei stared off at some point beyond Quatre's shoulder; he had a nagging suspicion if he turned around he'd find a clock.

"Hey. This is our table," the boy sneered. He looked oddly familiar.

"Yeah," his friend, taller with spiky hair, piped up. "Our table."

Quatre made a sort of squeak at them. Two more boys menaced up and joined the semi-circle behind Wufei. He recognized the broken-nose kid from his first days at the hospital; they'd knocked him down, but Trowa had rescued him then. After rinsing down the last of his sandwich with Quatre's milk and crumpling the carton in his hand, Treize made a show of to slipping Wufei's glasses into his pocket before standing, an absurd look of bravado on his face as he peered up at the much larger boys. "So?" he said, cocking his head to the side. "We're using it."

"N-no we're not!" Quatre blurted out. He jumped to his feet and snatched Treize's tray away. "We were just leaving!"

"I'd fancied sitting here a little longer, actually," Treize said coldly. Without turning, he reached a hand back and motioned for Quatre to sit. He stayed standing, frozen in place with the two trays stacked in his hands.

Broke-nose laughed shortly. "You and what army?"

"No, actually, just me and my friend." Treize smiled without it reaching his eyes. "So, fuck off."

Scowling, the boy started to raise back a fist, but suddenly stopped. He stared at Quatre, who dropped the trays in shock. They clattered noisily onto the table, for a moment drowning out the sound of Quatre's own beating heart.

"Mind if I sit here?" came a voice behind Quatre, making him jump. He snapped his head around, realizing broke-nose was looking at Zechs and not himself. The lanky blonde sat without waiting for an answer and popped open his milk. He zipped at it, eyes fixed on broke-nose.

The four bullies seemed to rethink their tactics. Scowling, the three left leaving only their leader glaring daggers at Treize, who coolly studied his gnawed-off nails as if that was his only concern in the world. "Fine," broke-nose scoffed. "Just for today."

Once he'd left, Treize turned back around – No, Wufei, Quatre had missed the switchover, but the glasses were back along with the worry. Zechs quirked a smile, "Four on one, Treize? You haven't much sense for picking fights."

"T-thanks," Quatre said earnestly, sitting. He leaned over and whispered, "That's Wufei."

"Really?" Zechs sounded genuinely surprised. Wufei, however, ignored the slight and took both Quatre's and his own trays with him before disappearing; Quatre had to assume back to the library for more pacing. Zechs watched him go and let out a laugh, "Not much regard for battle prizes. How can you tell them all apart so easily? Damned if I can make sense of it."

"Well, um. I guess… well… Treize is always… c-cool? Meiran's a little warmer, and Wufei's just kind of normal. He's not as expressive as Meiran, but not as collected as Treize," Quatre rattled off.

Zechs looked at him with heavy amusement. "Impressive. I guess I see what you're saying. So what's the big feud that's going down? You guys normally all sit together." Zechs gestured, and Quatre caught a glance at the wide, black leather strap he wore around his wrist, studded with silver hoops. A bit of white gauze peeped out along the edge. Quatre snuck a glance and saw another bracelet, this one red with black buttons and just as wide, on his other arm.

"Um," he forgot the question for a moment and felt Zech's curious gaze bore into him. "Um. Long story," he muttered.

Shrugging, Zechs took this answer at face value. Quatre fidgeted, torn between checking up on Wufei and being polite. Zechs had just saved them from a fight, after all, and clearly wanted some company in exchange. "So, you said Wufei's not as expressive. That's funny, because first time I met him he was plenty expressive." He clearly meant it as a joke, and Quatre managed a weak smile in return. Zechs chewed thoughtfully. "Do you know how long he's been here?"

"Um, a year?"

"Huh. Guess that makes sense. Relena's just been here for five months, so she didn't know… How about yourself?"

"Um." Quatre had to first think of what day it was, and then count back to his birthday. The answer shocked him, felt more like a lifetime. "M-Month."

"Oh, sorry for calling you a pipsqueak and stuff. I, uh, was just mad." Zechs looked so earnest, Quatre could only nod frantically in response. That seemed to make the older boy relax, and he actually sighed a little. "So, sixteen, you said? I guess Wufei's the same?"

"Um, yeah, I think so. Um, yeah."

Zechs nodded thoughtfully. He had eaten rather quickly, and Quatre trailed him out of the cafeteria anxiously. His eyes kept darting to the tiny sliver of white peeking out from around the boy's wrist, but couldn't dare bring himself to ask. Zechs looked at him expectantly, and Quatre found himself saying, "I-I was gonna g-go to the library."

He hadn't meant it as an invitation, but Zechs brightened a little and said, "Can I go with?"

Quatre nodded a little and his stomach twisted into knots. Maybe he could find a corner away from Wufei. He felt his friend's odd behavior needed to kept secret. After they had checked in at the front station, Zechs unnervingly went straight for the back windows where they found Wufei pacing. The tall blonde hung back, watching Wufei as if he expected to be thrown out. When Wufei just ignored them and switched to Meiran, nervously chewing her nails, Zechs and Quatre both took up station at the table.

Meiran's dark eyes snapped over to Zechs with a look of wary distrust, making the older boy look nervous. The glare vanished, however, as Wufei started pacing. A little use to this by now, Quatre watched with a little interest as Zechs wove from confusion to amusement to concern at Wufei's odd behavior.

"What's wrong?" Zechs leaned over to whisper, but not that it mattered; Wufei stalked back and forth in his own world. The morning's rain had given way to bright, hot summer sun; the hospital, in stark contrast, owed it chill to power air conditioning.

Quatre thought about Trowa's turtlenecks and looked briefly at Zechs's hands before answering. "D-dunno. He's been doing this all day." He kept Wufei's fearful confession to himself. Why would Wufei have to leave? He glanced again to the bands across Zechs's wrists and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the A.C.

Zechs got up and put himself in the middle of Wufei's path, getting bumped into as a distracted Wufei peered up at the obstacle the way one would a minor annoyance. "What's up?" Zechs asked cheerfully.

"What are you doing here?" Wufei snapped in return. His attention flicked up to clock.

Ice blue eyes followed his gaze. "It's about five minutes past the last time you checked. Got an appointment to keep?"

"No," Wufei scowled. He bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to keep from constant motion. It was near enough to make Quatre dizzy from watching.

"So, are you late or are they?" It was clearly a wild guess, but Wufei's cheeks flamed red and he lowered his eyes, mouth twisted up into a grimace. Zechs gave Quatre a covert thumbs up and persisted, steering Wufei toward a chair by the shoulders. "So who are you waiting for?" He asked, plunking the boy down into a chair. Quatre scooted his sideways to make room at the table. Zechs loomed to the side to prevent Wufei from getting back up.

"No one. None of your business. Go away," Wufei glared up at him.

"Oh, I know!" Quatre burst out, earning two surprised looks. He froze, struck shy by the sudden attention. "T-that one lady," he whispered. "She came last week. Um, N-Noin."

"It's all going to be your fault!" Wufei suddenly snapped, wheeling the full force of his glare on a rather shocked Zechs. High spots of color blotched an otherwise pale face, and Wufei's fists made balls at his side. He rocketed to his feet. "I'll have to leave or I'll have to stay and I don't know which one I want! Damn that Maxwell! Da—"

The rest was cut off by Zechs's hand suddenly muffling him. "Shh, hey, you're going to get us kicked out. This is a library, you know."

Only when some of the color retreated from his face and Wufei gave a curt nod did Zechs pull his hand away. Wufei glared hotly at the both of them, as if it were their fault he couldn't deliver his tirade against Duo in person. The three of them stilled, however, when footsteps approached their part of the library. Zechs hastily sat, but Wufei remained standing, shock still and tense. The library nurse popped out from between the aisles and beckoned to Wufei. He nearly leapt the table in haste even before she started speaking. "Chang, you have a visitor waiting at the nurse's station. You, too, Peacecraft."

Zechs's face twitched for a moment. "Really?" he asked, surprised. He raised his eyebrows at Quatre, who just gaped dumbly in return. With nothing better to do, he filed out of the library behind Zechs. Wufei had practically taken off at a run. Out in the commons, Quatre spotted Wufei anxiously hovering around the same dark haired woman in a deep green suit that had come last week. Quatre searched back, who had Meiran said she was? Oh, right, his case worker. But she had said they'd only gone shopping, and had dinner. She must have lied.

Wufei and the woman disappeared into the nurse's station, ostentatiously for privacy, but from the way the nurses huddled afterward they clearly expected trouble. As Quatre watched, Doctor S, Doctor Richards and a blonde woman with a severe bun and glasses he'd never seen before filed into the room as well. Quatre sat himself in a chair that had a good line of sight and fixed his eyes on the door to wait. He was distracted, however, by the tall woman with long, shining blonde hair and crisp blue eyes who was greeting her mirror-image son with a hug. Zechs gave her a terse smile and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, to which she beamed.

Relena flounced into the empty seat next to him, but not after first making sure the chair was perfectly aligned with the tile. "That's my Aunt Charlotte," she announced with a huff. "Daddy won't be visiting until tomorrow because she's here. They don't get along. I told you he was in the black sheep side of my family. You know she isn't even married. It's true. Daddy told me that she ran away because they wanted her to give the baby up."

Quatre swiveled around to face her. Relena needed no more prompting, and looked down her lean, princess nose at him. "Daddy says that Grandmama still sends her monthly checks, though, and I don't think Daddy likes that. But she isn't allowed to come to Christmas or anything like that and Grandpappy hasn't talked to her since she left. But Mother was close to her and so we use to go visit them sometimes. I haven't seen her since Mother died."

"Y-your mom died, too?" Quatre regretted the words as soon as he said them, but instead of getting upset, Relena just smiled serenely.

"Yes, when I was four. She was very pretty. She was good at cleaning. I have a picture of her. Daddy tells me I'm just like her," Relena beamed.

Although Zechs was trying to distract his mother, she had caught sight of the two of them and her eyes narrowed in on Relena. She turned to her son and asked him several questions, to all of which Zechs just scuffed his sneakers at the ground and shrugged. Relena caught on and gave a cheery wave. "Daddy won't be happy if I talk to her, though. Goodbye," she rose and carefully straightened the chair before leaving. Quatre watched her go and none to sad to lose her company; Relena always unnerved him slightly.

When he looked back, Zechs and his mother were gone. Quatre tucked his legs up into the chair and tried to quell the great sense of unease he felt. Under normal circumstances, he would go get Duo and they could wait together, but… Out of reflex, he half-rose to see above the partial-plexi partitions and scanned the common area for Duo without any luck. Quatre sunk back down into his chair to wait, alone.

-

-

Author's Notes: See, see? I promised you wouldn't have to wait long. Yay me for actually updating on time for once! I'm hard at work on the next one, too. Thanks for your support – I was amazed how quickly the reviews came in considering how long it'd been between updates. All I can say is – WOW! Thanks a bunch, it really motivates me!

So actually had this ready to go last night, but some strange, mystifying FFN error told me odd things and wouldn't let me do anything author-related. I know, bizarre. So, oh well, hope you didn't mind waiting an extra day. I can double-extra-promise the next chapter won't be very far away, either, as it's entirely written and just being held on to incase I write anything in #32 that makes me have to go back and edit a few lines. It's up-in-the-air so-to-say.

Oh, and about Trowa/Heero. Not to spoil anything, but I can assure you one of them is due up for an appearance very soon. That being said, you'll just have to keep reading! Here's to speedy updates, eh?

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	31. The Inbetween

LSE // 08-19-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-One: The In-between)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

The In-between

-

Quatre swirled around his gravy and gave the Salisbury steak a few half-hearted pokes. He sat alone in the far corner of the cafeteria, having been forced to abandon his station for dinner with no sign of Wufei. Panic drifted around in his middle, killing his appetite. He managed a few bites of mashed potatoes, however, and was pleasantly surprised when, halfway through the designated dinner hour, Zechs plopped down in the opposing seat. He frowned at the empty table. "Wufei not back yet?"

Shaking his head, Quatre sculpted the fluffy, starchy stuff into a passable approximation of Sandy's face before dribbling gravy over it. They ate in silence, right up until Duo marched up to the table and, arms firmly folded, stared at Zechs as if he was the only one at the table. "Where's Wufei?" he demanded.

"The hell if I know," Zechs snapped back, which was odd since the two of them had been getting along until now.

Duo's eyes narrowed, passing briefly over Quatre before he went away, braid bouncing against the small of his back. Zechs flipped him off under the table and Quatre had to hold back a giggle, even though he felt guilty for it. "But seriously," Zechs leaned forward, speaking in a low whisper. "D'you remember what he said about maybe having to leave? That was weird, wasn't it? Was that his mom or something that came to see him? She didn't look Asian or anything."

"Oh, um," Quatre flustered. He chewed at the rubbery steak, which had a consistency and taste of old tire, to buy time. "Case worker, I guess. Um, Meiran said he was a ward of the state."

Zechs considered this for a moment before persisting, "So do you think he's going to get released? No offense, but he is, you know, the whole split personality thing makes him a little too crazy. I guess he's harmless, though. I think? Is he?"

Quatre just shrugged, poking at his food. Zechs must have sensed his discomfort, because the older boy stopped questioning him and dug into his food with zeal. Quatre figured the boy was either determined or had taste buds of steel. Even for the hospital's sub-par standards, the meal was awful. The gravy tasted burnt and was lumpy, great chunks of powdery mix floating around in the watery base.

Zechs finished before him, but Quatre wasn't too keen on finishing his supper anyway. The two of them packed up and left, heading out into the commons and walking close to the nurses station, both to receive medication and sneak a peak for Wufei. Quatre's heart bounced; Wufei's case worker stood next to the station in deep discussion with the woman, the one he didn't recognize with the tight bun. As soon as he knocked back his pills, Quatre made an about face and walked briskly down the residential ward, heedless of Zechs calling after him.

Using his long strides, Zechs caught up easily as Quatre made a beeline for Wufei's room. The door was closed, to no surprise, and Quatre hesitated. Zechs glanced at the bronze name plaque and rapped sharply, to answering silence. He tried again, a little more insistent.

"G-guess he's not—" Quatre started to say, but Zechs pushed the door open, much to his horror. The sight inside, however, stilled his protests.

Normally, Wufei's room was an example of cleanliness rivaled possibly only by Relena, but not now. The sheets had been torn from the bed and wadded angrily into the corner, at least a dozen notebooks, some with pages torn out and crumpled, looked to have been thrown around at random, filled the distinctive pattern of three separate sets of handwriting. Some only had half-pages torn out, or angry scribbles across portions of them, the paper ripped in places where the pen had dug in too far. Books, some likewise torn or the spines bent at awkward angles, littered the floor by the desk. An old pair of glasses, Quatre assumed they were old because Wufei still wore his, lay shattered next to the boy himself, who sat cross-legged in the middle of the maelstrom methodically breaking pens and pencils from a tissue-decorated coffee can apart.

Eyes firmly focused on the task at hand –snapping the plastic and wood writing tools and throwing the two halves over his shoulder—Wufei didn't even look up as the floor swung open. Unable to do more than gape at the improbably scene before him, Quatre let Zechs drag him into the room. The older boy shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a low whistle. "Nurses are gonna flip if they see this."

"I'll –_ crack_! – deal – _snap!_ – with it," Wufei said flatly. He strained at one particularly tough pen for a moment before simply hurling it forcefully at the wall. It bounced off and disappeared under his dresser.

Zechs went and fetched the discarded pen and broke it using his foot as leverage. He presented the two halves to Wufei. Finally looking up from his precise destruction, Wufei just stared up at him for a long moment before giving a very faint smile and throwing the plastic bits over his shoulder where the rest were scattered. His hands were flecked and stained with blue-black ink from the assorted collection he'd already broken.

"So," Zechs said in a long, drawn out tone, eyes looking over the room. "Is there a reason your tearing your shit apart?"

"Not mine," Wufei said with emphasis. "Treize's. Only, some of these are Meiran's," he winced, breaking a mechanical pencil. The plastic scratched at him. "But I don't know which."

For the chaos that surrounded him, Wufei seemed incredibly calm. Quatre sat across from him on the floor and, when Wufei didn't stop him, picked a slender wooden pencil, painted white with a red rose print, from the coffee can. He snapped it in half and handed it to Wufei, who took it and broke it into quarters before discarding it. "I know that one was his," he explained.

Zechs perched on the edge of the bed behind the two of them. "What'd Treize do to you?"

"More like," Wufei gritted his teeth, "it's what Treize did to you." He turned his head and leveled a dark glower at the blonde. Zechs recoiled as if slapped. Wufei used more force than necessary and the ink pen angrily gashed the fleshy part of his thumb in retaliation. Ignoring it, Wufei reached for the last remaining pencil.

Neither Zechs nor Quatre had anything more to say, they simply watched as Wufei ran out of utensils and sat, shouders slumped in defeat, surveying the wreckage. Though he had them tightly balled into fists, Quatre could see his hands were shaking. Wufei stood unsteadily and went over to the dresser, jerking it open to look at the neatly folded contents. He slammed it shut and opened the next, from which he pulled out a ridiculous looking ceramic unicorn. He turned and, before either of his friends could stop him, spiked it onto the floor. Chunks of unicorn went flying everywhere, and Quatre quickly jumped to his feet to avoid them.

"What're you--?!" Zechs stood as well. "Stop it."

"No," Wufei replied calmly. He took out a blue shirt imprinted with some band Quatre had never heard of and tore at it with his teeth. The cloth gave easily, and he ripped it cleanly in half with his hands. He reached for another, but Zechs stormed over and yanked it out his hands. Wufei glared at him.

"I don't think destroying his stuff is going to help."

"Yes, it will." Wufei sounded so absolute that Zechs let go of the shirt and took a step back, surprise evident on his face. Wufei ripped this one in half with a little more effort. "If you can't stand seeing me trash that worthless," Wufei struggled for a moment over the right insult. He vehemently slammed the drawer shut. "Look," he told Zechs, an uncharacteristic rudeness slipping into his voice, "I know it's not fair to get mad at you, so get out before I say something I'll regret. What are you even doing here, anyway? I told you to stay away."

"You said to stay away from Treize," Zechs said quietly.

This gave Wufei some pause. Quatre broke into the sudden silence. "Wufei…? How did…?" He fell silent as those dark eyes moved in his direction.

"I'll leave in a week," Wufei answered shortly. He grabbed for another shirt. "With good behavior." There was a glint in his eyes as he said this, and sudden understanding filled Quatre.

Zechs snatched the shirt out of his hands, a look of cold fury on his face. Wufei snatched for it, and the two tussled briefly, with the shirt losing as the fabric jagged tore down the middle. Overbalanced, Wufei staggered back and lost ground. Zechs slammed the drawer shut with his hip and stood in front of the dresser, blocking Wufei's access. The two glared at each other, tableau broken by the door suddenly bursting open, scattering hunks of broken unicorn.

"You fucking hypocrite!" Duo yelled, eyes roaming over the wreckage and landing on a flabbergasted Wufei. "Look at this!"

His face filled with color, Wufei made a few stammering protests before falling silent, guilt clear on his face. He crouched and started hastily snatching at the debris, as if to hide it. "It's nothing. Not what you think. Go away," Wufei muttered, looking anywhere but at Duo.

"Yeah, fuck off," Zech sneered.

Duo goggled at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Whatever the hell I want," Zechs shot back.

Quatre squeezed Sandy close. He began to gather up Wufei's notebooks, making a neat stack on the desk of them. Wufei dropped an armful of ripped fabric, broken plastic and ceramic into the trashcan and stared at Zechs and Duo, who were practically toe-to-toe and seething.

"Why the hell's shit everywhere? You trying to pick another fight, Milly?" Duo spat the name.

Red crept up Zechs's neck. "Call me that again and I'll rip your goddamn braid off."

"S-s-stop," Quatre spluttered weakly. No one even looked his way.

"Like to fucking see you try, pretty boy. C'mon, Wufei, I wanted to talk to you," Duo jerked his head toward the door and stared expectantly at Wufei, as one would a dog. Wufei stayed where he was, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

"Take the damn hint, he doesn't want to talk to you." There was a note of triumph in Zechs's voice.

"Fuck off, Mill— Argh!" Duo's head jerked back as Zechs proved himself a man of his word. He grabbed at Zechs's arms, scrabbling frantically at the back of the hand wrapped around his long braid. The wide band of leather loosened and flew off Zechs's wrist. "Son of a bitch!" Duo swore, still clawing wildly. The gauze snagged, ripped, and Zechs let go with a hiss.

His body moved unconsciously. If there was one place in the entire world Quatre needed to be, it was most assuredly not between Duo and Zechs. However, he found himself planted firmly between them with arms outstretched. His bear hit the floor. "STOP!" he shrieked.

Duo's mouth fell open. Everyone seemed to freeze, even Wufei's hands stopped moving. Quatre's chest felt too tight, he gasped for air. "J-just stop! Stop f-fighting! All of you!"

Zechs looked away, covertly tugging the gauze back into place as he hid the exposed arm behind his back in a feigned casual way. Duo stooped down and picked up Sandy, toying briefly with the black ribbon under the bear's chin before offering it out. Quatre snatched it from him and stuffed it up under one arm. "I'm sorry, Quatre," Duo said quickly. He sounded sincere.

From the corner of his eye, Quatre caught the affronted glare on Wufei's face that Duo missed. Duo noticeably withheld his apologies to both Zechs and Wufei, looking straight at his ex-roommate. Quatre gave a sort of half-shrug and bit down on Sandy's ear. Duo stood there awkwardly for a moment before visibly gathering up his tattered dignity, a considerable feat given the disheveled mess his hair had become, with loose bits of braid puffed out at random. Without a further word to any of them, he stalked out of the room the way he'd come, even slamming the door.

That left the three of them standing around avoiding eye contact. Zechs fetched his bracelet and turned his back to reattach it; Quatre politely tried to stop staring, but kept thinking about Trowa. Wufei nudged at one of the many broken pens that littered the floor with his foot, very obviously holding back tears. Quatre found this sight much easier to avert his eyes from. He stared instead at his own feet. One shoe was untied, now that he noticed. He left it that way.

"Here, let me help you clean up," Zechs offered quietly. His voice carried a strong note of apology.

"If you want," Wufei mumbled. He staggered over to the bed and sat heavily, mattress springs squeaking in protest.

Quatre jumped at the chance to be useful and started snatching up wreckage. Working together, he and Zechs had the room presentable fairly quickly. Wufei swung his legs as he sat staring at his hands, feet scuffing the floor with a certain hypnotic rhythm. With nothing better to do, Quatre retied his shoe. Zechs set the empty coffee can on the desk next to the current journal, the only one Wufei hadn't maimed. He hesitated before turning around. "Do you—"

Wufei cut Zechs off with a terse, "Get out." And then, in a much softer tone, "Please."

"Whatever," the blonde stuffed his hands into his front pockets. Quatre thought he looked a little relieved, and Zechs left without protest. Quatre thought this to be an excellent idea, and trailed after him, but Wufei calling his name stopped him.

"Thanks," Wufei's eyes didn't quite meet his. He started to say more, but fell quiet. Quatre gave him a shaky smile and received a small one in return.

-

-

Author's Notes: Whew, I really wanted to get this out before classes start up again (tomorrow). I'm so not looking forward to this semester of complete suck. Sigh. (even my history classes are disappointing! and I love history!)  
I know, what a startling revelation! Wufei leaving? How could it be! You'll have to keep reading to find out what happens. I'll bust my chops trying to hustle out the next chapter, which will star someone you've all been dying to have appear again! Oh, oh, I hope I didn't give too much away...  
Cat, don't apologize for being busy, hon! I'm just glad you're still reading! That goes to everyone, too, thank you so much for all the encouraging feedback. I'm continually amazed at the support this fic receives, and very grateful for it, as I dearly love writing these particular characters and story!  
For anyone else dreading the looming first day of school, you have my sincerest sympathies. For those eagerly anticipating, you have my envy, for you must be taking more interesting classes than I!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	32. Heero and

LSE // 09-07-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Two: Heero and)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Heero and

-

The bus lumbered slowly up the darkening street, setting the passengers inside into a lulling sway at every rough and bumpy pothole. Outside the window, a street lamp flickered rapidly and died before blitzing back to life. Across the bench from him, a hunched rag-wrapped person of indeterminate age and gender drooped into a nap before snapping awake as the bus shook. Heero looked elsewhere, not wanting to see the drool bubbling from the corner of the bum's mouth. Toward the back of the bus, three teenagers in black hooded sweatshirts, despite the sticky humidity, leered at a young, pretty girl still dressed in her fast-food uniform and name tag. She coolly kept her eyes fixed to the front, hands clutching her umbrella as if she planned on using it as a weapon.

Lurching to a halt, the bus gave a great mechanical sigh as the doors scraped open. Both Heero and the girl got off, leaving only the hooligans and the bum as the bus rumbled off on the short remainder of its journey. Shuffling the plastic bags looped over his elbow around, Heero dug around in the pocket of his oil-stained mechanics uniform for his key. It was just a short walk from the bus stop to the crumbling brick apartment building he called home, for which Heero was grateful; it had been a long day. He checked his mailbox in the stuffy little entry way before unlocking the thick wooden door to the building.

A balding middle-aged man with perpetually dusty glasses seemed to have been waiting for him, eagerly abandoning his reading of the bulletin board as he headed toward Heero. "Ah, you see," the man fumbled out a greasy rag and wiped ineffectively at his lenses. "Today's the third, you understand, and—"

Heero gave a short nod and fished out his wallet. The man broke into a relieved smile. "Got your note about the, ah, situation at work. I understand, I understand. Happens to us all," he practically licked his lips as Heero counted out the second half of his money before passing it over. His boss had been kind enough to advance him the next paycheck, but only after a considerable amount of overtime. He hated working on Saturdays.

The man brightened considerably as he stashed the wad of twenties away. "Don't know if you noticed, but Ms. Thatch in 12B moved out this month. Left behind a delightful little studio, very neat, very clean, perfect for your needs I suspect."

"No," Heero frowned at the man. "I won't be late again."

His landlord gave a nervous, tittering laugh. "Of course, of course, you're usually always so prompt. Really, just the other day I thought to myself you must be my favorite tenant. I just thought that it's such a waste for you to be renting such a large—"

"No," Heero cut him off coldly. He knew the Andersons in 8C had been eyeing his apartment greedily , the new-wife's belly having already began to swell. With a curt nod, Heero brushed around the nervous man and punched the sixth floor button.

"Well, of course, naturally, it is such a nice unit you have. Keep it in mind, of course, Leases aren't up until the end of the year, you know, so just give it lots of thought," his landlord called. The elevators doors groaned shut with a rusty protest on whatever else the man had to say.

Heero tossed his keys into the little bowl he kept on a stand by the door and nudged on the lights with his shoulder as he passed. The little apartment brightened up, exposing bare walls and simple furnishings. He set the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and carried the other two bags with him into the larger of the two bedrooms. In stark contrast to the rest of his home, this room featured bright, energetic movie posters, most of which Heero was only vaguely familiar with. They were a bit crumpled, salvaged from the movie theater dumpster a few blocks away, but well kept and tacked up with great care over the otherwise bland, beige walls.

Heero upended one of the sacks on the rumpled, blue bed sheets and a cascade of candy bars tumbled out. They were all well past the expiration date, but Heero had little intention of eating them. He'd picked them up for free from work, simply by asking the man who came to change out the vending machines if he could have them. With careful precision, he started arranging them over the already cluttered surfaces. He buried some in the nightstand, the drawer filled with a random assortment of pens, paint brushes and hair ties, while others he set on top the desk He dug out a battered shoebox from under the bed and added one to the blank scraps of paper it held.

Clearing aside crumpled wads of blank paper, loose change, and never-used pastel crayons, Heero took the contents of the second bag and set it proudly on the desk. The swivel-head lamp had a busted bulb, but was the precise puke-green color he remembered. Heero looked around the room. It was getting close to perfect. He rearranged the pillows and tried to give the bed sheets a just-slept-in look, a considerable feat since they had yet to be used.

Crossing through the tiny bathroom that connected the two bedrooms, Heero went into his own room. Grey-striped sheets covered a neatly made bed, the only thing in the room besides a nightstand, lamp, and a laundry basket. He shrugged out of his work coveralls and dumped them into the basket, which was near to overflowing.

He had just changed into a clean pair of boxers and began slipping on a pair of jeans when the phone started to ring. Without bothering to fasten his pants, Heero padded out into the living room and snagged the phone off the kitchen counter on the third ring. "Hello."

"Hee-eero."

Only one person could whine his name like that. Heero shifted the phone into the crook of his shoulder. "What?"

"You didn't co-ome."

"I had to work."

"But you're _always _working. Why can't you come visited meeee?" Duo did a remarkable impression of a petulant toddler on the last syllable.

Heero glanced at the wall calendar, a freebie sent out by some funeral home in the area, tacked up behind his dining table. Each little square was filled with his precise handwriting with such things as "work 8am-7pm" and "grocery shopping" or "laundry." He frowned; laundry was on the agenda for that evening, right below "work" and "1/2 rent due." Sunday, tomorrow, had several big, red circles around it and Duo's name written in all caps.

The voice on the other end breezed on without him replying. "But you're always working! Why do you always have to work? You should quit your job. I need you! It isn't fair. You're a fucking workaholic." Duo griped. "Why is everyone being so mean to me right now? What the hell did I ever do to any of you? You're just as bad as Wufei."

"Shut up," Heero snapped. He did not want to be compared to that boy from the hospital. "What have you done now?"

"Nothing! Why do you always think it's my fault? You never trust me! You always think I'm up to something. The Heero I remember never gave a fuck about the rules. You were a bigger troublemaker than me anyway! Why the hell are you suddenly so uptight about everything? Duo, take your medicine. Duo, listen to your doctors. Why the fuck should I listen to anything they say? They're all quacks. They can't help me. They just want to keep me here and rake in money from the state."

"Idiot." Heero twisted the curls of the phone cord around his finger. "Behave," he pleaded. It snapped out like a command.

"Whatever. You're just as bad as them!" Duo huffed. "I'll see you tomorrow." The line went dead.

* * *

Heero woke from an uneasy sleep filled with hazy, unclear nightmares of Duo in peril and was stuffing his left arm into the sleeve of his mechanic's uniform before he remembered. He shucked out of the uniform and swapped it for a pair of jeans and a clean, blue shirt. He spent a little time in front of the bathroom mirror, hacking a comb through unruly hair that ignored his ministrations, before going to scrounge up breakfast from the kitchen. He stuck a pair of frozen waffles into the toaster, threw the empty box away, and then added "waffles" to the growing grocery list on the freezer door.

Double checking his calendar – grocery shopping was penciled in for that Tuesday, after work – Heero waited impatiently with a plate and fork by the toaster. The waffles sprung up just as the phone rang. Heero snagged it with one hand and slathered the waffles in syrup with the other. "Hello."

"Yuy, I'm going to need you to come in today."

Just like that, no preamble or excuses. Heero stabbed his waffle with unnecessary force. "Mr. Green, I am not scheduled to work today."

"I know that, boy, or I wouldn't be calling you in. Gonzales's wife just went into labor. I'm going to need you to come in around ten and stay until Hughes gets there at four."

"Sir, I have other plans—"

His boss's gruff voice broke in, "Didn't I just advance you half a paycheck? Whatever plans you've got can wait until after four."

Assuming he left the shop at precisely four, he could run to catch the 4:12 bus on Pine to Lincoln, the furthest west to buses ran, and from there it was only a twenty-five minute walk to the hospital. If he ran the whole way and check-in took less than five minutes, he'd have two to three minutes to say hello to Duo before visiting hours ended. "No, sir, it can't wait," Heero explained.

"Now, kid, I hired you because you could work weekends. Here it is a weekend, and I need someone to work. You're going to have to meet me somewhere in the middle, Yuy."

Heero caught the hint. "Yes, sir. I'll be in."

"That's what I like to hear, Yuy!"

The phone bounced out of the cradle when he threw it, and he left it that way. He ate with record speed, forwent making the bed, and was out the door in record time, still stuffing one arm into his mechanic's uniform. Halfway down in the slow, creeping elevator he remembered the white box of chocolates stashed up on the top shelf of his closet, leftovers from his last visit when treats had been denied. If he forgot them today, they'd be worthless. The elevator doors slid open and Heero made the decision to let them go. Even hurrying, his plan might not work.

Bypassing the elderly Mrs. Kittery with a curt nod, Heero started off in a brisk walk that turned into a full out run. Bypassing the closer bus stop, he ran two blocks to just barely catch the Lincoln street bus on 43rd. He slumped into a seat and kept one eye fixed on his watch, the other glued to the slow, laborious advancement of the bus. The further west they went, the more passengers they gathered until, eventually, Heero surrendered his seat to a young woman dragging a screaming toddler. The child wailed the entire rest of the route, adding to Heero's relief when the bus finally rolled to a stop on Lincoln.

Panicked over how long the bus had taken, Heero made the run in under ten minutes and a full fifteen minutes before visiting hours started. He caught his breath in the sweet, cool air conditioning of the entry way before going to give his information to the smiling receptionist. She passed over a visitor's badge after his signed her little clipboard, and then told him to sit and wait for visiting hours to actually begin. He remained standing, just a few feet from the double-doors of the administration wing that led into the actual hospital ward.

Once the clock struck nine, the receptionist buzzed him through the doors where an orderly stood waiting to escort him down the narrow hall. As Heero emerged out into the hospital's main hub, across the way he spotted the trickling stream of patients leaving the cafeteria, Duo's timid little blonde roommate among them. Duo, however, wasn't at the boy's side. Instead, there was a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a long, gold ponytail and the Asian boy, Wufei. Usually, Duo ate with his friends. Where was Duo?

He asked this question aloud to the orderly, who merely shrugged and told him to ask at the nurse's station before disappearing back down the hall. Ignoring the line of patients receiving medication, Heero asked one of the harried-looking nurses where he could find Duo. "Oh, Maxwell?" her eyes flicked to the chart in her hands while the nurse next to her passed out little paper cups filled with pills. Another nurse handed out water. "Hasn't been through yet. If you wait, he'll be out – Catalonia, don't try sneaking off! Get over here, girl!" the nurse barked.

And so Heero waited, none too patiently and fully aware of the minutes being wasted as he did so. The roommate – Quatre – noticed him first and, wide eyed, nudged Wufei repeatedly until all three of them were staring at Heero. He tried to ignore them, keeping an eye on the cafeteria doors, but the hushed whispers kept drawing his attention. Then Duo, dressed in his usual black, appeared at the cafeteria doors and Heero zeroed in on him. The circles under his eyes looked darker than normal; had he been sleeping?

When he noticed Heero, Duo went rigid for a moment before breaking into an enthusiastic grin; but it failed to reach his eyes, Heero noticed. His joy at seeing Heero had a definite air of wariness, maybe guilt. "Heero!" he gushed anyway, arms awkwardly wanting to snatch Heero up into a hug, but settling instead to cross over his chest.

"Why aren't you with your friends?"

The words tumbled out almost against his will, and Duo's scowled to hide his hurt. "Nice to see you, too, Heero." Okay, maybe not to hide it at all.

"Why?" Heero prodded. He tried to lead Duo toward the nurses passing out medication, but the other remained planted.

"Why do you care?" Duo shot back, which only made Heero more suspicious.

"Idiot. Did you hurt one of them again?" he asked anxiously; if Duo kept hurting people, they'd never let him out.

"What? No! What's with the third degree? Why's it always have to be my fault? Why don't you trust me? What did you even come here for… did Wufei call you? What'd he tell you?" Duo's brows drew tightly together, the words flying out with venom and hitting Heero like physical blows. "We're just having a fight. Friends do that. Oh, right, you don't have any, so you wouldn't know! You, you… crazy psycho-loner! I hate you."

Heero did a goldfish impression, mouth opening and closing several times before he choked out a snarling response to the only part deserving one. "No one called me but you." The subtext cut the anger from the younger boy's face, and Duo, abashed, lowered his glare. Heero peered down at his watch. "I'm leaving now," he tried to put an apology into the words, but by the sudden rush of color to Duo's face he suspected it came out otherwise.

"Just like that? You just got here!"

"I have—"

"Don't say work!" Duo cut him off, fury rushing back into his beautiful features. Heero's shoulders sagged in disappointment. When he said nothing, Duo gave a heaving sigh of discontent, juxtaposed against a bright, sudden grin. "Call it... a tea party, or something."

"Fine," Heero said softly. "I have a tea party."

Duo snorted out a laugh, eyes radiating the same fierce look of gentle feelings and hard determination that so captivated Heero; he felt a warm sense of peace. They exchanged awkward goodbyes, conscious of the myriad of curious stares, and Heero reluctantly started to leave. He felt Duo's gaze on his back, but kept himself from looking. Doing so would make it more difficult to leave.

-

-

Author's Notes: Tada! As promised! Many of you guessed correctly that I'd be featuring Heero next. But don't you Trowa-fans worry, I can assure you he's due up for an appearance very shortly.  
So, what'd you think? I took too long, I know, I'm sorry! The start of classes coincided with Ian's computer fritzing. I very nearly lost this entire chapter! (btw; the title is correct and not a typo or missing any words. Interpret it how you will.)  
Well, I guess that's about it from me. I'll be working on the next chapter if you need me. Oh yeah! Everyone's reviews have been amazing! I get so motivated when I read them. Thanks so much.

Oh, and only my math class truly sucks, but it's math so what can you expect? (Apologies to those lucky bastards who like math; may you all become engineers and make way more money than we poor students of humanities.)  
Everyone who's a student, college or no, how's it going? Let's all work hard, ne?

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	33. Collaboration

LSE // 10-26-07  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Three: Collaboration)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Collaboration

-

With a clatter of utensils and plates, Duo's tray thumped on to the table, making Quatre flinch in his seat and Wufei coolly look in the other direction, a firm, stubborn set to his brow. Zechs, fork half-way to his mouth, froze and seemed to glare across the table at Duo's sudden presence. Amethysts swept first over Quatre, who battered up a shy smile and received a quick grin in return, and then to Wufei, resolutely staring at some distant point.

Duo's sudden intrusion on their lunch table was not unexpected, to Quatre, at least. Heero's brief visit that morning had drained some of the tense anger from Duo, causing the infectious good humor and Cheshire grins to swing back into full force. Wufei, sensing the change, had cloistered away in the library all morning, ostentatiously to avoid Duo, but Quatre uneasily sensed something else going on besides two stubborn friends fighting.

"So, I said some stuff I shouldn't have..." Duo began, faltering a little when Wufei's face remained firmly facing the other direction. "Some pretty mean stuff, uh," he glanced at Zechs, oddly enough, and seemed to switch tactics. "I was pretty much a bastard."

"Understatement," Zechs muttered.

Duo took the high road and ignored him, or else simply missed the remark. "So, you were totally right and I was way wrong," Duo cajoled, apology slinking into desperation as Wufei kept ignoring him. He hesitated, clearly wanting to sit down and start eating, but kept at bay by the cool anger radiating from Wufei.

"And, uh, I'll never do it again."

"Yes, you will," Wufei said quietly.

Duo opened his mouth, affronted, and clearly reconsidered as his mouth snapped close. "But I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did."

Quatre lost interest in the lumpy mashed potatoes and bounced his gaze between the two of them, like watching a verbal tennis match.

"No," Duo started to protest, but a sharp look from Wufei cut him off. He fell silent, shoulders slumped like a puppy berated by its owner.

"But," Wufei said slowly, drawing the word out. Duo perked, sensing the sudden shift in his favor. "I _am_ a fucking lunatic."

Duo, horrified, scandalized, stuttered out several halting apologies before settling on, "Don't say that! _I_ shouldn't have said that. You're not—"

A raised brow cut him off, so sharply and quickly that he comically seemed to choke on the words. The corner of Wufei's mouth twitched. "That was a joke, you idiot."

Duo's features melted into relief, and he gave an odd, nervous laugh. He started to sit, but stopped when Wufei carefully set aside his fork and rose to his feet. Dark eyes stared up for a long moment, contemplating Duo's manic, hopeful grin. "Would you do me a favor?" Wufei asked suddenly, breaking his gaze. He glanced quickly around the cafeteria. Quatre mimicked him out of curiosity, but saw nothing of interest.

"Anything," Duo assured him, briefly flashing Quatre a victory thumbs-up.

Wufei hesitated, looking around once more. He bounced on the balls of his feet slightly and worked his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. He looked up again, highly concerned. "Forgive me."

"For wha—" Duo started to ask, bemused, but was abruptly cut off by the sudden, dull smack of Wufei's fist connecting into his jaw. His head jerked to the side, eyes bulging with shock. Quatre gave a horrified gasp, Zechs a whooping cheer, and Wufei just stood there, eyes anxiously bright as Duo lifted fingers to feel the gush of blood from his swollen, split lip.

Orderlies descended, sweeping in with self-importance and numerous admonitions of "Nobody move!" One seized an unresisting Wufei above the elbow and jerked him roughly out of the cafeteria, met halfway by a flurry of white uniforms. Two nurses, plus an orderly who looked a little disappointed that nobody needing restraining, made a fuss over Duo's lip. Duo, for his part, turned round eyes on Quatre; they exchanged mutual "what the fuck" looks.

Duo tried to argue he was fine, that he just wanted to eat, that, no, he really honestly hadn't been fighting, a fact which Quatre eagerly nodded agreement on, but to no avail. The nurse bundled him off to the infirmary anyway, blotting a tissue at his face until Duo batted her hand away.

The commotion garnered curious questions from nearby tables, most of which Zechs cheerfully answered with "fuck off," except Relena, to whom he simply shrugged. Quatre gathered up his tray to leave, not liking the stares the two of them kept getting, and was only slightly surprised to have Zechs follow suit. "What do you think that was all about?" Zechs asked, once they were clear of the cafeteria.

"I think," Quatre said, biting his lip and searching around conspiratorially. "I think Wufei wanted to get in trouble."

Zechs stared at him, mouth forming a small "o" of sudden understanding. Quatre could practically see the light bulb flare. "You think he's sabotaging his good reputation? So they won't release him?" Zechs said this with dripping tones of incredulity. "Why would he want to do that? It makes sense, though. I mean, if he really wanted to knock some of Duo's teeth in, he would have picked a better place for it."

The two of them picked out a quiet corner of the commons, which stayed quiet only until Duo hunted them down minutes later. "What the hell!" he said by way of greeting, slouching into a chair with a dejected air. He dabbed at his lip with a scowl. "Fortunately for me Wufei punches like a girl. Well, no, I take that back; Dorothy slugged two molars loose from a guy once. He punches like… a panda. (Are pandas very strong?)"

Quatre shrugged, wide-eyed.

"Not like you," he finished, with a nod to Zechs. Zechs huffed, clearly not sure if he'd been insulted or complimented. Duo seemed disinclined to clarify himself and continued poking at his lip, finger coming away tinged red when the delicate skin popped open again.

Quatre had to look away, and swallowed hard before he found words. "S-so we think--" Quatre started, but Zechs jumped in abruptly with, "Why do you think Wufei hit you?"

Duo snorted. "Isn't it obvious? He was pissed. We're cool, though, don't worry. It barely hurt and I deserved it so, fair play to Wufei."

Shooting Zechs a look he hoped was forceful, Quatre blurted out, "Wufei's getting released."

Zechs sunk back in his chair with a look that clearly reproached Quatre for ruining their trump card, which he tried to ignore. Duo stared stupidly at him. "What?"

Quatre quickly ran Duo through Wufei's odd behavior, their long wait in the library, and the reason for all the broken pencils. Duo's eyes grew rounder and rounder as the story unfolded, and he covered his mouth in horror when Quatre falteringly reached the point of the story where Duo had burst in to pick a fight with Zechs. Duo stroked his braid briefly and glared sideways at Zechs, a look the tall blonde returned in force.

"Oh, man," Duo slumped. "No wonder Wufei punched me. I had no idea..."

"He did it on purpose," Zechs studied the ends of his nails with cool, nonchalance. "To get in trouble. God knows why, but he wants to stay here."

"But, that's," Duo stammered, looking at Quatre. "That's crazy. He hates this place. We all hate it here."

Quatre thought of the clinic, and before that his home, and then looked at the open expression on concern on Duo's face. Wufei's words echoed, _I'll have to leave or I'll have to stay and I don't know which one I want! Damn that Maxwell! _Quatre remembered Trowa's warm smile, and even gentler touch, felt his cheeks heat pink, and suddenly thought he understood. But, Wufei's reasons were his own, and so instead Quatre just gave a wry shrug in return.

"Well, that's it then," Duo said firmly. He leaned in, brows knit together and voice low in a conspirator's whisper. "We're going to block Wufei's plan. No more troublemaking. For all the grief he gives _me_ about it, especially!"

Zechs leaned forward as well, keenly interested. "I agree," he said.

"But..." Quatre objected. The older boys both stared at him, so abruptly and attentively that his mind went blank. He sunk down into his chair, shaking his head, until they ignored him and went back to plotting.

Wufei spent the rest of the afternoon in the quiet room, released just in time for supper, and if he found Duo's cheery dismissal of his cut lip disconcerting, he hid it well. Wary but relieved, Wufei sat stiffly with the rest of them during dinner and tolerated Duo's enthusiastic retelling of the fight to an eager Relena and Dorothy with minimal interjection. Quatre watched with a growing sense of unease, aware of the strained nerves between everyone despite apologies having been given and accepted. Except, notably, between Duo and Zechs, who seemed to have put animosity behind them and united under the common banner of keeping Wufei in the good graces of the doctors.

Duo and Zechs all but dragged Wufei to medicine checks after dinner, and their combined attentions forcing the younger boy to meekly submit to good behavior. When Wufei tried to stay in the commons past lights out, Zechs galvanized him into motion and shepherded the boy down their hall. Duo and Quatre went into the other room hall, sudden and awkward silence cropping up between them when Duo mistakenly pushed open the door from habit. He stood there, rooted in spot for a second, staring at the stark end of the room that use to be his.

"Well," Duo said after a moment, "I like what you've done with the place."

Quatre slid around him and into the room, shyly keeping his eyes rooted to the floor. Duo patted him briefly on the shoulder before leaving, the final gesture smoothing the some of nerves.

------------------ -----------------------------------------

The fierce whispering ended abruptly when the focus of the talk, Wufei, came within earshot. Icy blue hues matched the wary challenge in bold amethyst, as both Zechs and Duo tried to look interested in the floppy bacon and runny eggs on their plates, to hide their covert stares. Quatre barely resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Good morning, Meiran," he said, with emphasis on the name.

Duo's head jerked up and swiveled around as the alternate personality took the empty seat beside him. "Meiran," he echoed, a hint of disappointment across his face.

"Well, don't all cheer at one," she replied, giving Duo a funny look. "Your lip isn't nearly as puffy as I thought it'd be."

"Hell, hate to break it to you, princess, but I bet you could give a harder punch than Wufei." Duo waved his fork in a wild gesture. "You'd think that was the first time he'd ever hit anyone."

Dark eyes made an exaggerated roll. "Damn right I could punch harder; don't tempt me." Meiran bit off a chunk of biscuit and mushed her words through it. "Ish was 'es firsh."

"No shit?" Duo ruefully rubbed at his jaw. "That's something of an honor, I suppose."

Quatre studied Meiran between the gold veil of his bangs. He could only assume she knew the looming release date; he had seen the carefully kept notebooks, and her handwriting took up the most room. Was she opposed to Wufei's plan, or even know about it? Quatre chewed thoughtfully before realizing with a start that she was returning his stare with equal curiosity. Hastily, he dropped his eyes. The hot heat of a blush spread over his cheeks and burned red hot throughout the remainder of the meal.

Duo volunteered to take their trays, and the moment he drifted out of earshot Meiran all but shoved Zechs aside to get in close to Quatre. "What happened?" she hissed. "Wufei said he hit Duo 'as planned;' what the hell does that mean? What did Duo _do_ to him?"

"Uh?" Quatre answered stupidly, stomach clenching.

Zechs swooped in to the rescue, shamelessly having eavesdropped. "You should know," he shot back. "Why's Wufei—"

"You butt out!" Meiran said sharply. Her back was stiff, shoulders set, and she gave Zechs a look of completely distaste. "What are you doing here? I thought Wufei told you to stay away."

"From Treize—"

"You," Meiran started, but Duo's return cut off whatever ferocious insult she had ready. "Later," she said shortly, giving Quatre a heavy look. He squirmed under the appraising gaze, and felt a small relief when she stalked out of the cafeteria.

Duo caught up with them after morning pill-checks, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. "Let's have a Connect Four Tournament of Champions! Quatre, go find a suitable battleground. Zechs, go find Relena and Dorothy, and one other person to make an even number. I'll get a copy of the game! Okay, let's go!" He pumped his fist into the air.

Quatre took a few faltering steps into action, but Zechs remained rooted in place. "Connect Four sucks," he sneered. Duo, scandalized, made a swooning motion. Zechs ignored the theatrics. "Let's play poker instead."

"But… I wanted to do a Tournament of Champions," Duo protested, emphasizing the capitals. "Poker's boring if there's nothing to bet with."

"I like Connect Four," Quatre offered.

"Well, that settles it," Duo announced. "Two against one; you're out-voted. Okay! Remember, we need an even number. Rendezvous where Quatre's at! Quatre, try to be taller or something so we can find you. Let's go!" Duo threw a hand up for a high-five, which after a long, awkward pause Quatre meekly batted. "Yeah!" Duo gave him a thumbs-up.

The resulting tournament anti-climatically involved only the three of them plus Relena, Dorothy having morning therapy. Relena, more obsessed with keeping things even than strategic placement of the red discs, lost to Quatre in the first round. He went on to defeat Zechs, was declared Champion, and then promptly lost the title to Duo after a "loser's bracket challenge." Amid Duo's victory celebration, which seemed to consist entirely of telling Zechs how much he sucked, Quatre quietly withheld that he'd thrown the match. It seemed unsporting to ruin Duo's good fun.

They held a rematch, to pass time, with some shuffling of tournament contestants as Wufei and Dorothy came back from therapy and Zechs left for his. The final showdown, this time between Quatre and Wufei, ended in two draws before Quatre eked out a victory just before lunch. Only through increasingly insistant protests was he able to talk Duo out of an on-the-shoulders victory march into the cafeteria.

Quatre slid his tray along the line to receive a square of lasagna, which promptly slid sideways and mushed into his bread, and, entranced with watching his meal decompose, nearly collided into Wufei. People behind Quatre protested at the sudden halt of the line, and Quatre pushed gently on his friend's back to galvanize him into action. "Wufei?"

After tucking away Wufei's glasses into his pocket, Treize smacked Quatre's hand away with a peevish "Stop that!" Duo's head jerked around and, ahead of him in line, Zechs fumbled his tray and nearly dropped it. With sudden haste, the tall blonde snatched a carton of milk from the server and then stalked across the cafeteria to sit far removed from their table. Treize's eyes followed him.

They sat, Duo and Quatre exchanging nervous glances whenever Treize wasn't looking, which was often, as Treize launched into a lengthy critique of the hospital's interpretation of Italian food. Quatre leaned back in his seat to see that Dorothy and Relena had taken up positions on either side of Zechs; the older boy looked less than thrilled about it, especially as Relena frequently leaned over to straighten his shirt collar and smooth out the fabric from around the buttons.

"—tre. Quatre! Hey, blondie!"

"Wha?" Quatre jerked his attention back around.

Treize snatched the tray out from under him. "Your welcome," he sneered, taking Duo's as well. Duo stuck his tongue out behind the boy's back, but Treize saw and flipped up a finger in retaliation

"What got up his ass and died?" Duo grumbled. "C'mon, let's get to Dickie's room early and mess up all the chairs before Relena gets there."

Somehow, Relena had beaten them there and was straightening the last folding chair when they walked in. Duo's shoulders fell in palpable disappointment before he slouched into a seat. Quatre sat between him and Zechs. He watched the door anxiously; if Treize stayed around for group, Zechs couldn't just leave. He looked over and saw Zechs briefly chew his nails, stop, and then chew them again. Was he worrying as well?

Doctor Richards came into his office and spent a few minutes chiding Relena for rearranging his desk. Quatre watched the clock move past one, and beside him Duo gave a low, quiet groan. Zechs leaned over Quatre to whisper, "You think…?"

Richards finished with Relena and, looking first at the empty chair beside Duo and then to Duo directly, spoke sharply. "Where is Wufei?"

"Hell if—" Quatre stepped on his foot, and Duo quickly rephrased himself. "I dunno."

"He is late," Richards said. Duo, under his breath, muttered something rude. Richards got up and moved away from their circle of chairs, thumbing on his radio.

"Shit," Duo whispered. "Either Treize is playing hookey or—"

"Do you think Treize is in on 'the plan?'" Zechs waved bunny ears over the words.

"Possible, but—" Duo broke off as the doctor sat back down.

"Let's get started anyway, shall we?" Richards glared suspiciously at Duo. "I was going to announce a special treat I had planned, but now I don't know…" He paused, waiting expectantly until Relena, unable to resist, whined out a plea. "Oh, all right," he beamed at her. "Wednesday I'm traveling to a conference, so we will not be able to have our normal meeting. Since many of the other doctors are also attending the same conference, most of your individual therapies have also been cancelled for that day."

"Woohoo!" Duo cheered.

"Some of you," the doctor explained, leveling a meaningful look at Duo, "can take the opportunity to go on a special day trip into the city. Those who remain here will watch a movie and enjoy popcorn. Obviously your behavior will influence which—"

The door flew open with a bang, startling Quatre, as a pair of orderlies dragged a passively-resisting Treize into the office. Richards coolly gestured to the empty chair. "Have a seat, Wufei, and stop interrupting. You're being rude to the others."

"Yeah, what- fucking-ever," Treize snarled, jerking his arm free of the orderly's grip briefly before the big man snagged his shoulder and marched him over to the chair. Quatre stared with horrified fascinating at the red welt on the side of Treize's neck before realizing with a flush of embarrassment it was a love bite. Next to him, Zechs was similarly pink-faced, and looking furiously everywhere but at Treize. Duo, oblivious, seemed intent on picking a thread free from the hem of his black t-shirt.

-

-

Author's Notes: Whew, this took longer than I expected. Midterms, work, illness, Ian's car breaking – ah, life! Anyway, I lucked out and ended up with some free time here recently so I was able to get some writing done. Right after I post this I'm going to start the next chapter and hopefully make some sizeable progress. However, exams are about to roll around, plus I still haven't settled on a Halloween costume! Oh well.

I'm so excited to see all the continuing readers, and new ones!  
Sir Gawain, thank you! Psychology is my secret passion. I own the DSM IV (the bible of psychiatric diagnosing) plus numerous other reference books on the subject. I love doing research… I'm pretty obsessive with it, so it's very flattering to be praised for it! I slam the shrinks because the characters hate them. It's a bureaucratic dumping ground for sick teens, so things aren't all peaches and sunshine, but Richards and the lot mean well. I've taken a few classes on psychology, but other than that I'm actually a history major (psychology may be my passion, but history is my one true love!).  
Jin, I also spend my time thinking of this 'fic! Hehe. Thanks for your kind words. Really, google? I've always wondered how people find my stories!

Well I've rambled on long enough. Till next time, my wonderful, fantastic readers!

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2007 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (violetnyte dot livejournal dot com)


	34. Motives

LSE // 1-29-08  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Four: Motives)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

Motives

-

"What is this?" Quatre asked, jiggling his tray to watch the lop-sided slice of reddish brown substance ungulate. The server ignored him, slapping down a spoonful of limp, watery green beans. The liquid oozed up next to his roll, which Quatre quickly relocated to the other side of his tray to save it from sogginess.

"Meatloaf," Duo offered, bumping his tray into Quatre's repeatedly. The slice wobbled and toppled, breaking into two pieces as it fell. "I think."

Quatre watched with disappointment as they ran out of oatmeal cookies three people up from him in line. He and Duo received little paper cups filled with cinnamon-sugar apples slices. "I'm tired of G always holding me late," Quatre said with a sigh.

"I make it a policy to always show up for therapy between two and three minutes late, and then blame it on the clocks being set wrong. By the end of the month, I've wasted nearly an hour."

"That's…" Quatre stared at his friend.

"Genius?" Duo offered. "I know. But I can't take all the credit; Heero taught me that little trick."

Quatre set his tray down on the table and greeted Meiran and Zechs, the latter of whom looked oddly relieved when he and Duo sat down. "We were just talking about Richards's announcement," Zechs waggled his eyebrows at Duo in a very obvious way. Duo stared back like the blonde had just sprouted wings and started flying figure eights.

"I already knew about it from individual," Meiran said. "Doctor S cleared me to go this morning. I'm looking forward to it."

"Goddamn!" Duo suddenly burst out, flashing daggers at Zechs. Underneath the table, Quatre's foot suffered a misaimed retaliation kick.

"Well I think the trip sounds boring," Zechs ground out between clenched teeth. Quatre tucked his feet securely up under his seat to stay out of range. "Don't you, Duo?"

"What? No, hell, I'd kill to be able— son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, I agree," Zechs said in false, sugary tones. "Staying here and watching a movie sounds way more interesting. Don't you think, Quatre?"

"Wha? I, that is, um…" Quatre stuffed the entirety of his roll into his mouth to escape questioning. He shrugged, laboriously chewing the fluffy, surprisingly tasty bread.

Meiran rolled her eyes. "You can't go, I bet. Duo's sure as hell not going." Duo's protested around a mouthful of meatloaf, but Meiran ignored his garbled mushings. "I've heard a rumor we're all getting taken out for ice cream and the petting zoo. Or laser tag, depending on who you ask."

"Lame," Zechs dismissed.

"Someone sounds jealous," Meiran said smugly. She stood, picking up her tray. "Enjoy your popcorn and movie, which I'm sure will be burned and stupid. Respectively." She stalked across the cafeteria, pigtails bouncing jauntily.

"Man, I am crazy jealous!" Duo burst out. "I'd so go if I could, and if you kick me one more time Zechs I swear I'm gonna shove Quatre's fork into your eye."

"You idiot!" Zechs shot back. "Wufei's looking for ways to cause trouble and get himself a bad record before the week's up, right? And what better way to grab attention than doing something on the day trip? All he'd have to do is disappear for a few minutes, grab some contraband, and smuggled it back in."

"Or disappear entirely," said Duo slowly. "If he runs away…"

"Exactly," Zechs nodded gravely.

"Son of a bitch," Duo swore. "I've got a rep for running; no chance in hell I'm going. Did you see the look Richards gave me when he mentioned it? He's not even my doctor, but I can guarantee G feels the exact same way. The fuckers."

With eerie simultaneity, Duo and Zechs both trained intense, focused gazes on Quatre. "I'm not going," Quatre quickly squeaked. "I'd rather stay here."

"But you have to!" Duo protested. "And you'll have fun."

"B-but," Quatre sputtered.

"Yeah. Lots of fun," Zechs echoed. "Just keep an eye on Wufei."

"Aren't you going?" Quatre pushed around the limp green beans and decided he wasn't hungry anymore.

"Yeah, right," Zechs rolled his eyes. "Huge red flags all over my file, I bet."

Duo stood, gathering up the trays. "Well, I bet the movie's gonna blow big time. I hope you like cartoons and musicals, Q."

"But…" Quatre's shoulders slumped in defeat as neither of the older boys so much as looked his way. He trailed after Duo, still espousing the evils of kid-friendly films, and waited for a lull in the conversation. When Duo finally paused for breath, Quatre jumped in with "M-maybe, um…" He faltered off into timid mumbling when Duo politely swiveled his full attention over to him.

"Um," he tried again. "I've been thinking that, maybe, Wufei… Well, that is, where is Wufei going to go? I mean, if he gets released, he doesn't have any family. M-maybe he likes it here better."

Duo goggled at him. "Here? Better? Ha!" he scoffed. "This place is a hell-hole of suckitude." He sunk into one of the armchairs. "See right now, there's a spring trying to eviscerate my spinal column. And look, this puzzle here?" He grabbed the box from the table and shook it at Quatre. "Trust me, it's missing pieces. Fifteen, to be precise, because I had to listen to Relena bitch and moan about it for nearly as many days. So they could've spent a dollar or two and just bought a damn new puzzle, but instead Relena's medication got upped. Fine bureaucracy at work."

"No," Zechs said quietly. "I think that's a good point." He gave Quatre such a serious look that the little blonde stared at the puzzle box instead, the tips of his ears heating.

Duo turned his incredulous look on Zechs. "I've been all over the system my whole life and this is one of the shittiest places. Where else have _you_ been?"

"Jail," Zechs snapped out, shutting Duo up for a moment. "But Quatre's right. If Wufei doesn't have family --" he looked to Quatre for confirmation.

"He's a ward of the state," Quatre offered, quoting Meiran. "He has that case worker. Remember, Duo, we met her?" The older boy gave a brief shrug, sulking over being contradicted.

Zechs's features softened with sympathy. "No family. So where is he going to go? Another hospital? A foster home?"

"Families aren't that great," Duo waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I've never needed one. Quatre's not so keen on his, and where's your happy shiny childhood album of memories, Zechs?" He sneered slightly, their delicate truce visibly disintegrating. "Boundless love and affection for you family has to be keeping you up at night."

Zechs colored slowly, flushing around his neck before the pink spread up into his cheeks. "Fuck off, Maxwell."

"Wait, wait," Duo held up a hand. "Let me guess. Your dad's not in the picture, I bet. He probably ran off on your mom before you were even born, making her a social outcast and so she resents you. Or maybe your dear mother disapproves of your disaffected lifestyle choices and is secretly glad you're someplace besides home. Or maybe she's a whore--"

"Shut your fucking mouth before I break it," Zechs snapped. He jerked to his feet, looming over Duo, with one fist raised.

Duo leaned back in his chair and gave a cocky grin. "Touched a nerve, Milly?"

"Hey!" Quatre jumped up, arms shooting out to plant against each boy's chest. Both felt tense and firm beneath his palm, muscles straining with tightly wrapped tempers. "Cut it out," he said sharply.

Zechs ducked his head, abashed, but kept his hands in tightly packed fists. He trembled from head to toe, unable to look at either of them. Quatre felt a rush of unexpected sympathy, wondering which of Duo's careless jabs had struck home. "Let's just ask Wufei," Quatre suggested. "If he has a reason for this, maybe we should find out."

"Hmph." Duo crossed his arms. "We'll just waltz up to him, then? 'By the by, when not being fully instituted, what's your life like? Skippy peaches and cream, Wuffie?' Great plan." The words dripped with gratuitous sarcasm, making Quatre's cheeks flush.

"Yeah," Zechs said quietly. He visibly pulled himself together, hands slowly stretching out. Little red crescents dotted over each palm from where his nails had dug in. "Let's go, Quatre."

"What?" Quatre repeated, stupidly incredulous and unable to stop himself. Zechs started walking, platinum hair a gentle wave over his back as he moved. Shooting an apologetic glance to Duo, he hastened to follow after the taller boy, easing into his wake. Their matching blond heads popped the image of ducklings into his mind, and Quatre quickened his stride to match Zechs's longer one.

Firm, confident steps led Zechs down the hall and right up to Wufei's closed door, at which point he hesitated. Hand raised to knock, he looked intently down at Quatre. "Do you think he'll answer truthfully?"

"No."

Zechs smiled anyways, rapping his knuckles lightly on the painted wood. Answering silence stretched out longer than necessary, and the two of them waited patiently. Quatre found his eyes perpetually drawn to the peaking edges of bandaging around Zechs's wide bracelet, and he suddenly wished that instant was the opportune time to ask. Memories of Trowa formed fearful, curious questions in his mind that exploded with urgency whenever he caught sight of the white trim.

The door swung open, interrupting a second knock so that Zechs's hand hung in the suddenly empty space. Meiran stood in the doorway, eyebrows up. "What?" she demanded, waving a battered paperback at them. "I'm in the middle of something." A clipped, frosted edge on her tone made it clear that Zechs was not welcomed.

He shouldered her anger with a lazy grin, the twist to it reminding Quatre of Duo. "Hello, Meiran," he said with arching politeness. Her guard visibly lifted at the wheeling tone. "Do you mind if we come in?"

"Yes," Meiran snapped, making a move to close the door. Zechs's foot shot out, one sneaker casually wedging the door in place. His smile didn't waver, but her resolve did. Easing her grip on the door, Meiran flicked obsidian eyes between the two of them, hesitating for a long moment on Quatre. Heaving a sigh, she stepped back in defeat.

Graciously taking his victory, Zechs slid into the room just enough to let Quatre by. Meiran all but shut the door on his heels, her body still blocking the two of them further access into the room. Clothes were draped over the bed and desk, an unpacked suitcase lying in the center of the floor. Meiran folded down a corner to hold her place, and then tucked the book up under her crossed arms.

Zechs ignored the impatience in her eyes and instead looked over and around her at the half-hearted packing attempt. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, nails scratching at the denim. Bolstered suddenly by Zechs's hesitance, Quatre blurted out the question they'd come to ask. "Where will you go?"

Meiran's mouth worked silently for a moment. "You mean, if...?" She jerked her head toward the open suitcase. Two blond heads bobbed in unison. "I can't say. Was that all you needed?" She made as if to kick them out, hand closing over the doorknob.

"Can't say, or you don't know?" Zechs asked quietly, moving forward. Meiran shadowed him, face wary. He ran his hand over a white shirt that was stretched over the edge of the bed before returning her hard gaze.

"None of your business," Meiran snapped, eyes tight in the corners. She ignored Quatre entirely, focusing the full of her displeasure on Zechs. "Was that all?" she demanded, swinging the door open. The invitation to leave was stark across her face.

Quatre edged for the door, embarrassed. Would Duo gloat when he found out they'd failed, and so spectacularly? He'd been skeptical of this plan from the beginning. For someone who viewed this hospital as the penultimate of institutionalized torture, Duo seemed remarkably comfortable with staying. Quatre pulled his lower lip between his teeth, mulling this over. Duo's actions continually mystified him. He felt a sudden wash of sympathy for Heero.

Zechs whispered something to Meiran as he cleared the doorway, the words lost to Quatre but sharply affecting her cool gaze. The features faltered for a second before the door slammed shut, practically on Zechs's heels.

"You've known him longer," Zechs shrugged, icy blue eyes surprisingly warm as he looked down at Quatre. "Do you think there's some reason behind this?"

The honest concern in those pale orbs sent Quatre's own eyes to the tile, following the black cracked through the white into random patterns. Sandy's soft fur brushed his check as he nuzzled between the bear's ears for a moment. Zechs waited patiently until he finally spoke, scarcely above a whisper. "Maybe."

"I think so, too," Zechs said, the certainty in his voice making Quatre fear he hadn't heard properly. "But I guess we'll find out soon."

-

-

Author's Notes: Hello everyone! It's been too long, as always. I moved recently, which is great news because now Ian and I lived together. This means lots of extra internet access for me, huzzah! I can actually assure you that chapter 35 is pretty much written. I just haven't decided where it ends and chapters 36 begins. About an hour ago I reached the end of 36, so hopefully I'll figure everything out this week and do some more posting. I'm sorry not much happens in this chapter, but look forward to what's around the corner! Thank you, and see you soon.

(PS! I have updated my contact info to reflect the move.)

Feedback/reviews are very much appreciated!  
copyright 2008 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSE - Violet Nyte (Kinokokao at gmail and AIM)


	35. Breakaway

LSC / 11-28-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Five: Breakaway)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 35

**Breakaway**

* * *

As the verdicts came down on which students could go and which were doomed to suffer "mindless drone hour," as Duo put it, the hospital buzzed with excitement. Pockets of gloom stuck to the corners, the unfortunate ones being left behind either sullen or furious. Duo swerved wildly from enthusiasm to despair, and Quatre found it best to simply not talk about the upcoming excursion around his former roommate. That proved difficult, as all Zechs wanted to do was rehearse different disaster scenarios and prep Quatre for them; what to do if Wufei picked a fight, what to do if he acquired contraband… Quatre nodded his way through it.

Tuesday, after group, Richards handed out laminated badges that used magnets, not safety pins, to stick to the front of their shirts. Quatre turned the little badge over and over in his hand, watching the pale blue surface with his name in black ink. Wufei's nametag was also blue, but Dorothy and Relena both received green. Duo and Zechs, to no one's surprise, did not receive nametags, as they had both been barred from the trip.

They were to leave in the afternoon, and the excitement at lunch on Wednesday created a noisier buzz of conversation than usual. Quatre sat beside Wufei, the two of them dressed, like the rest of the "lucky bastards," as Duo put it, for sunshine and summer heat, instead of the dreary, constant air conditioning. A few tables over, Relena clutched a tiny, beaded handbag in her lap and practically bounced in her seat with happiness; Quatre felt only screaming nerves and anxiety.

"They're not letting people leave," Duo murmured. Two formidable looking nurses stood on either side of the double doors, clipboards in hand. Tables emptied of food and trays, but not people; the nurses sent everyone who asked back to their tables. Duo volunteered to the take the trays up and spent quite a while talking to the nurses before being shooed away.

At precisely noon, the doors opened to let in the head nurse, her facial expression stern as she abruptly blew a whistle around her neck. The cafeteria fell silent, eager eyes awaiting her command. "Those without badges, please come line up. Everyone with a badge stay seated," she emphasized the words, as some had eagerly sprung to their feet already.

"Well, this is it. D'you think it's too late to swipe someone else's badge?" Duo ruffled Quatre's hair as he stood. "Have fun," he warned. He stared pointedly at Wufei, who seemed preoccupied with positioning his badge just right on his shirt. The nurses checked their clipboards before letting anyone out, although Quatre doubted there were any badge-carrying people trying to sneak out. He was probably the only one thinking about it.

Despite the way the unfortunates shuffled out, reluctant, sometimes pleading for last minute reconsideration, it didn't take long to clear the cafeteria. Maybe thirty or forty remained, wearing a rainbow of badges. The head nurse lifted her whistle again and, seeing every pair of eyes on her, reluctantly lowered it. Six orderlies, each one wearing a different color of scrubs and holding a clipboard, came into the cafeteria and took up evenly spaced positions. Quatre's eyes tracked the blue orderly, who fortunately ended up just behind their table.

"All right, get into your groups." The head nurse sighed the words.

A mad scramble ensued, teenagers nearly shouldering each other out of the way in haste. Wufei and Quatre simply stood up and turned around, whereas Dorothy actually jumped a few chairs to get across the sudden sea of people. The head nurse blew her whistle again, the last stragglers clumping up beside their orderly.

Blue orderly – his name tag read John– read their names off his clipboard. Hands shot into the air in response, starting with Wufei and ending with Quatre. He vaguely recognized the others, from seeing them around the facility.

John the orderly told them to pick bus buddies, and Quatre immediately turned to Wufei to ask. Before he could the words, however, Wufei snatched his hand almost on reflex. They shared a small, nervous smile. The orderly marked on his clipboard again and ushered them into a double line. The other groups were likewise being lined up. Quatre spotted Relena and Dorothy, naturally next to each other. The red group's odd numbered member stood next to their orderly, and the unlucky boy didn't look pleased.

Everyone filed out slowly, the head nurse leading the way. Despite the orderlies attempting to keep order, the bubbling enthusiasm created a low buzz of conversation through the lines. Quatre and Wufei were at the tail of their line with only clipboard-wielding nurse behind them. They marched through the abandoned common room of the eerily quiet hospital and out, into the narrow corridor of the administration wing.

A set of glass doors admitted them through to the little reception area, the secretary sitting there looking up as they passed. Quatre squinted against the sudden, bright gleam of the sun streaming through the entryway. Outside, in the circular loop of the drive, sat school bus, painted a uniform white that was chipped and fading. Stenciled along the side was the name of some church, the vehicle clearly borrowed for this purpose. The tense little crowd of teenagers exploded with cheers at the sight of the bus, combined with the cool shade of the portico and, most pleasing to Quatre, a gentle breeze.

The head nurse tried yelling a few times, and finally the screech of her whistle brought a reluctant hush. They were made to stand in neat lines, boarding in twos only after each name had once more been checked and cleared from the endless stack of lists on her two assistant's clipboards. Quatre and Wufei shuffled forward with the rest and were the last on the bus. The head nurse stayed behind, loading up her two assistants plus the nurse who had been trailing the line all along.

The blue orderly was in the rear of the bus, standing by the tiny half-seat beside the emergency exit, and he pointed to an empty bench for Quatre and Wufei to sit in. Four rows from the back, Quatre frowned as he realized they'd ended up over the wheel. He slid in first, taking the window seat but also giving up any chance of leg room. One final roll call was done before the orderlies and nurses finally sat. The driver, a gray-haired lady with the pinched look of a chain smoker, threw the bus into gear and they slowly rolled away down the drive.

"Does anyone know where we're going?" the girl sitting Quatre asked loudly. The set of boys across the aisle were making faces at the hospital.

"Who cares!" her friend replied, making a rude gesture out the window. She laughed, giddily. "We're free!" she called, earning cheers from the rest of the bus.

"Quiet!" one of the nurses shouted from her sear up front, directly behind the driver. It didn't stop the hum of conversation, just lowered the volume.

The boy sitting in front of Quatre half-rose in his seat, hands going for the window locks. The gray orderly told him to sit back down. "It's hot," the boy protested. Other patients piped up their agreement. It was uncomfortably warm on the bus with the sunlight streaming in and heating the brown leather of the wide seats.

The orderly stood and popped open the emergency hatches on the ceiling, ventilating the stuffy bus a pathetically small amount. The bus swung out into traffic and the girl in the back cheered again.

Wufei shifted in his seat. "If Maxwell were here we'd all have to sing a stupid song."

"Like 'The Wheels on the Bus?'" Quatre guessed.

"Or 'Ninety-nine Bottles.'"

"I wish he and Zechs could have come."

"Speak for yourself. I'm a terrible singer."

Quatre grinned, pressing his forehead against the glass. Other cars passed as they lumbered on, buildings cropping up closer and closer together as they traveled into the city. "Where do you think we're going?"

"I have an idea," Wufei admitted, tone guarded.

"Oh." Quatre said carefully. He tried to sound casually curious but disinterested. It came out more like a sigh.

The tall downtown buildings appeared suddenly in his view, and his chest fluttered in response. Stretching billboards shouted colorfully against the grey, mottled skyline of the city. Reluctantly, his eyes sought out the tallest one, the towering steel and glass structure looking just as cold and remote as he remembered. The red fiberglass W had a lower pane broken out. Too bad. He'd hoped a sudden earthquake or airplane had reduced it to rubble. Well, on a holiday. With the janitors on smoke breaks.

An underpass suddenly blocked his stare, and Quatre instead started watching the occupants of the sedan beside them. A little girl in the backseat stared back up at him. She made a sudden face before the sedan curved away on its exit.

"Oh, have we left already?" The voice beside him sounded confused, and Quatre half-turned his head to see Treize sitting beside him, black hair loose around his face.

"Yes, we left," Quatre answered, not sure what else to say.

"Get your head back; I want to see, too," Treize leaned over, a bit closer than needed, and stared out the window. "Doesn't look all that exciting," he said after a minute, blowing a rush of displeasure through his teeth.

Quatre went back to watching. This changed things. Was Treize in on the plan? Was he the plan? Treize, he knew, was a natural troublemaker. Like Zechs, like Duo, he just seemed to always end up on the bad side of the nurses. Maybe because he always tried to flirt with them, whatever, but Quatre couldn't contain a sudden sinking sensation.

It didn't help that the bus bumped and jostled an atrocious amount; he'd never been on a school bus before, and didn't think he much liked them. Where were the seatbelts? How did everyone's brains and guts not go everywhere on the highway in a crash? He swallowed hard as the bus moved across traffic for its exit.

He tried to think positive. There was the off chance that Treize wasn't in on the plan, and his sudden appearance meant Quatre could stop worrying. But why couldn't it have been Meiran?

Something Quatre couldn't see excited the right side of the bus, judging by the sudden spike in whispers. The bus slowed for a light and when it turned Quatre caught sight of the long stretch of parking lot. A squat megalith of a shopping mall sat beyond the sea of cement and glittering cars.

The girls behind him squealed happily, faces plastered to the window. The bus turned again, changing Quatre's view. They rolled to a stop and half the bus lurched up into their seats before getting shouted back down by the nurses

The red orderly stood, beckoning his seven red-badged responsibilities to follow his lead. They trooped off the bus and were followed by the green, orange, purple and gray groups. Quatre and Treize exited first this time, right behind their orderly, and were marched inside the movie theater entrance to cluster beside the other groups in the lobby. A lone employee was sweeping behind the concession stand.

The nurses conferred briefly, the three of them suddenly looking absurd in their white uniforms. Quatre marveled at the normality of the theater. A bank of arcade machines shouted quietly against the opposite wall, their lights and noise and spontaneity so utterly banal. In fact, with all of them looking like regular teenagers, it was the nurses and orderlies who looked out of place for once. Quatre glanced over in time to see Wufei finish readjusting his glasses, and his heart sank. The plan, whatever it was, had to be back on schedule now.

The nurses and orderlies checked all the names off their lists once more, as if any of them could have a crawled out of a bus window on the highway. The nurses exchanged pleased, accomplished looks, clearly anticipating the worst of it to be over. The lot of them were ushered toward one of the theaters.

And then Quatre lost Wufei.

It happened very quickly, or perhaps very slowly, Quatre did not actually know. Wufei was next to him when they walked toward theater, but nowhere to be found once Quatre was actually inside. He tried to think what Zechs had suggested for Wufei Runs Away protocol, but his mind went blank. Quatre hoisted Sandy securely under one arm. He had a choice to make. He could stay and watch the movie, or try to sneak out himself and find Wufei.

Quatre merged back into the crowd. The theater lights were up, but it was still very dim toward the back. He focused on looking as innocent as possible, as if he were just looking for a good seat, not thinking about how to best flee. He had his opportunity when one of the orderlies, the grey one at the door, was asked a question by Relena, of all people. Had she seen him? It didn't look like that was the case, or so Quatre thought, but he took the chance and slipped around the theater door.

There was another orderly, this one in red scrubs, standing in the hall, and Quatre froze. The man was bent over a water fountain, his back to the theater, and before his nerve could leave him Quatre was hurrying toward the fire exit. It was closer and seemed less risky than trying to navigate all the way back through the lobby. Quatre threw his body against the metal bar and then he was outside.

Hot sunshine bounced off the pavement. Quatre squinted sharply as he leaned back against the doors. Now what? He looked out across the empty parking lot. No, not quite empty. Quatre felt a jolt of recognition as he saw Wufei getting into a caramel-colored sedan. He couldn't be sure, it looked like a dark haired woman was in the driver's seat. His case worker? What was she doing here? But Quatre could not certain, and before he could think to do anything, the car pulled away with Wufei inside.

Quatre nearly started to laugh, struck by how utterly absurd the situation was. He'd snuck out for no reason. Wufei was gone. He should have shouted, he should have ran in front of the car. Zechs or Duo, they would have thought of that. Duo would have thrown himself on to the hood of the car, utterly reckless, if that's what it took to keep it from vanishing out from between the white lines of the empty lot.

His shoulders sagged. Now what? Did he dare try to sneak back in? Quatre bit down on Sandy's ear while he thought it over. He was already going to get into trouble. A strange, giddy thought overtook him. Since he was going to get in trouble either way, why not have some fun first?

Quatre ripped off his name badge and tossed it into the nearby dumpster. There was nothing to suggest he wasn't just another teenager at the mall now. He started walking around the side of the mall, away from the front of the theater, past the loading docks and dumpsters of the mall business. Eventually he found a sea of parked cars and the department store entrance for the other end of the mall. He would just walk around the mall and enjoy his freedom for an hour or two, and then go back. Assuming they didn't realize he was missing before that.

And if they did realize he was missing, well, he was already going to get into trouble! Quatre did laugh, then, hiding his mouth to suppress a sudden giggle. A blast of air conditioning caught him as he walked into the fancy department store, past displays of neatly folded men's dress shirts. No one gave him a second glance, except when Quatre burst into another fit of nervous laughter. Why go back into the theater at all? Why not just go outside and start walking?

Because he had no money, nowhere to go. They'd find him eventually. His Father. He'd be furious. Or would he even care? Quatre firmly resisted the urge to pull Sandy's ear to his mouth for comfort, not wanting to draw attention.

He wandered up the escalators and out from the department store into the actual mall. He strolled past a pen of robotic animals on display outside a toy store and into a trinket shop at random. Quatre looked for any familiar names among the tacky, personalized keychains and found one of his sisters' but no one else. He went next door and tried out a few massaging chairs until the salesperson asked frostily if he needed any help.

Downstairs and across the way, Quatre spotted a bookstore. Cardboard displays outside the store showed off the latest new releases, and his attention perked immediately as he recognized one of the authors. He detoured down to the escalators and hurried excitedly over to the display. Quatre pulled one of the hardcover books off the shelf and flipped it open to the book flap.

Maybe he'd tried to read the whole book right there in the store, and see just how long it would take for the orderlies and nurses to find him. The idea made him smile. He turned the title page over and began to read.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I don't even know what to say. Can you believe it's been 3 years and 10 months? Have you forgotten all about this story? Will anyone even read this chapter?

Yes. I updated after a nearly 4 year hiatus. Do I have a good excuse for my absence? Not really. So much has happened since we last spoke. I'm sure a lot has happened to you as well. Thank you for reading, by the way. This story has never left my thoughts. I'm almost embarrassed by the early chapters; was I ever that young? This story has drifted around quite a bit, but I feel like maybe I can get it back on track. If my writing is different, if the characters are different, if I forget smaller details and add new ones… please forgive me. Ideally I'd go through and rewrite everything, and then erase all your memories – but I'm obviously not going to do that.

Please enjoy, if possible, this update. I will do what I can to finish this story. Thank you for reading.

It's good to be back.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	36. Found

LSC / 11-28-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Six: Found)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 36

**Found**

* * *

Elbow-deep in sudsy water, Trowa moved the bristled scrubber over the plate in methodical circles. He liked washing dishes. The work was easy, and the kitchen a lively place. He could listen to the coming and going of the wait staff and the easy, playful banter of the cooks. Trowa set the cleaned plate on the plastic loading rack with the rest. Once the rack was full, he pushed it into the sanitizer and lowered down the hatches. Forty-five seconds later, he lifted the lever to raise the hatches and carefully pulled out the tray from the other side. Steam poured out from the sanitizer. He pushed the dish tray further down near where the others, gleaming clean and still a little wet, waited.

They were in the post-lunch lull, which meant everyone was standing around talking except him. Stacks of dirty dishes piled up next to the sink and the bottom of the deep, sudsy water were the caked-on gooey messes he saved for last. As Trowa worked, he tried to avoid looking at the twin scars on the inside of each forearm. This was the downside to washing dishes. He had rolled his sleeves up for the first week, but the summer heat combined with the hot water had him digging t-shirts from the back of his closet. No one came over to talk to him besides Catherine, and her eyes never strayed. His work was simple. Dirty dishes were stacked next to the sink, and someone always took the clean ones away when he was done.

The first day, a few of the staff had tried talking to him, mostly the older ladies who used words like "hon" and "sugar" too much. Catherine must have explained, because they gave up rather quickly. Everyone gave up eventually, except his sister. She always persisted. Now she came sweeping into the kitchen, fanning herself with her order pad and complaining about the heat. Coming over to check on him, she brightly asked, "Are you hot, Trowa? I can imagine you'd be with all this steam everywhere!"

Trowa used the spray hose to rinse down a water glass. These didn't really need scrubbing. Trowa soon had a whole tray full of glasses ready to go. Catherine jumped in to help, pushing the tray into the sanitizer when he pulled the lever and the hatch door sprung open. She hung around and watched him fight grease off a casserole dish "Since it's slow, they're cutting my shift short. When you reach a stopping point we can leave." His sister left, still fanning herself. She grabbed her bag and went to the bathroom to change out of her work uniform.

Globs of stuck-on grease and what he suspected was crusted cheese floated out into the soapy water and bounced off the back of his hands. Trowa brought the dish out and applied the scrubber to a difficult patch. Catherine emerged from the bathroom in a pair of black shorts with a bright green top. She leaned against the walk-in freezer and chatted with a friend of hers, a round-faced young woman with short, pink-tipped blonde hair. Trowa thought her name might be Sara, but her lack of nametag prevented him from double-checking. He dunked the casserole dish down into the water and gave it one final scrubbing before setting it into a new tray. Reaching into the water, he fished around for the metal chain to pull out the stopper. The water slowly chugged down the drain.

After wiping his hands dry on his long, white apron, Trowa untied it from around his waist and hung it back on the hook near the back door. When he turned around, Catherine was saying goodbye to her friend and heading his way. He waited by the door for her. His sister stuffed her purse into her large shoulder bag and gave him a big smile. "Ready?"

They got in the car and she started driving, but in the wrong direction. Trowa stared at the window as the street numbers became smaller, and then glanced nervously over at his sister. A lot of places were in this direction, but Trowa instinctively thought of the hospital. It was only a forty-minute drive from Catherine's work to the outskirts of the city, and they were going in the right direction.

"I need to do some errands," she explained. "We're going to the bank. I have your paycheck with me, too. Maybe we can go to the mall. Would you like that? You could buy…" her cheerful tone dropped slightly as she hesitated. She gamely recovered, "some puzzle books or movies or something. Or maybe clothes. I think you've gotten taller. Would you like that?"

They stopped at a red light and Trowa watched a pigeon run out into the street to get a tempting crumb. A taxi ran over the little bird, smashing one wing and stunning it. The pigeon tried to fly off, but a city bus rolled over it just as Catherine's car turned the corner and he lost sight of the street. They drove on in silence. His sister reached down and turned on the radio, flooding the car with the harmless sound of classic rock favorites.

"Do you like this music, Trowa?" she asked, turning the volume down so they could talk over it. Or, rather, so she could. He started counting the fire hydrants they passed. "You could get a little radio to listen to at work, while you do the dishes. Or a book to read at home, maybe. Do you still like to read, Trowa?"

She pulled into one of the parking spaces fifteen hydrants later and turned the car off. Trowa got out and immediately spotted a penny underneath the adjoining car. He picked it up. The metal was a lustrous copper, the minting from that year. He slipped it into his back pocket. Catherine waited patiently and then watched him carefully as they went inside the bank. "Here's your paycheck," she announced, handing him a rectangular piece of paper.

Catherine took out her own check and signed the back. His paycheck was actually a personal check, not a payroll one like his sister's. Georgia A. Marrenor was probably Catherine's boss, and the check was made out for an even hundred dollars. "Now if you want," his sister was saying, "you can deposit that into my bank account and save it. I won't touch it, I promise. But I know you probably can't wait to spend it, right?" She beamed at him.

Trowa dutifully signed his name across the endorsement line on the back of the check, which was printed with cartoon characters on the front design. Georgia A. Marrenor also had terrible handwriting. "Favor for Cathy" was scrawled on the memo line. He could only imagine how the conversation had gone; put Trowa to work, pay him a pittance, he won't bother anyone, I can't leave him at home, please. Hopefully her boss thought it a fair trade. Trowa liked washing dishes.

Catherine approached the teller when it came around to their turn. Trowa straightened the stacks of free checking information cards. Relena would be pleased. "Here, Trowa, give the lady your check," Catherine prompted. He slid the check across the counter.

The bank teller was giving him an odd, pitying look with equal parts confusion mixed in. He was used to such looks. People usually assumed he was just deaf or dumb, or both, instead of crazy. He never knew what Catherine used as an explanation. He doubted she used the term crazy. He didn't like it much himself.

The teller counted out five twenty-dollar bills. It was the most money he'd ever held. Catherine beamed happily as he slipped the bills into his pocket. She finished up her own transaction, making a small deposit into her savings and withdrawing some cash. Trowa couldn't help but glance at the receipt; his sister had a pretty hefty savings account for a waitress. Her checking account had a far more modest sum. He felt a little guilty for snooping and looked away.

Back in the car, Catherine kept asking about his interests and listing the possible things he could buy with the money. Trowa saw another pigeon dart out into the street, but this one fortunately took to the sky before anything could run it over. He thought it would be nice to buy a loaf of bread and find a park to feed ducks in. The sun shone brightly and enough of a cool breeze existed to lift the worst of the heat. Maybe some squirrels would show up. Trowa liked animals.

Instead of going home, Catherine drove them to the large mall at the outskirts of the suburbs, enthusing on the different clothing stores and how nice Trowa would look in new clothes. They passed a park, and Trowa eagerly looked for the ducks. There was a small pond, but no ducks. He sat back in disappointment. How many loaves of bread could he buy with a hundred dollars? Quite a few. What did squirrels eat, nuts? A bag of peanuts couldn't be very expensive. With a hundred dollars, he could probably just buy a duck to put in the pond and have money left over for bread, too.

Catherine turned into the mall parking lot, driving past the empty section in front of the theater. She edged into the crowded section directly in front of the main entrance; for a Wednesday afternoon, there were a lot of cars. She parked direct underneath one of the lot-banners. They were parked in the acorn lot. Catherine wrapped the looped handle of her clutch purse around her hand and left the big shoulder bag behind, stuffed up under the seat. The auburn in her hair shone brightly in the sun. She wore big, green hoop earrings to match her top.

Trowa trailed after her. A cluster of teenage kids decked out in black, baggy pants, chains, eyeliner and hair dye loitered outside the main entrance. One of them stared at Catherine's legs and Trowa stepped up to be even with his sister, glaring down the teen. The punk looked away. Catherine kept walking, oblivious.

Cool air blasted them as the automatic doors glided open, and Catherine made a soft "aahh" sound. Trowa preferred the outside breeze. He held his arms stiff at his side, suddenly conscious of the old, faded shirt he was wearing. It was Catherine's high school homecoming shirt, dated four years previous, but as she explained "their idea of a medium was way off" so the shirt fit Trowa just fine. The short sleeves left his arms bare and the air conditioning sent little ripples of goose bumps over them.

"Where do you want to go first?" Catherine went over to the large information board. A little red dot accompanied by a large arrow pointed to their location on the confusing map. Catherine studied the map for a while. "Let's look at jeans. I'm pretty sure you've gotten taller again. Soon you'll be as tall as Da—"

Catherine's voice snapped off so suddenly she nearly choked. With high spots of color on her face she resolutely stared at the information board until the pink faded under her makeup. "This way," she announced, striding ahead.

Trowa followed her closely through the dense crowd. To his relief the crush of people eased once they left the high traffic areas. His sister confidently picked out a path to one of the anchor department stores but, once inside, faltered for a moment. They wandered a circuit of the store before venturing up the escalators and into the men's department. Trowa stood patiently while Catherine eyeballed several different sizes on him. Arms loaded with denim, Trowa was ushered into one of the dressing rooms.

He tried on one of the pairs and, since it fit, didn't bother to try the rest. The price tag was slashed through several times with discounts. Trowa sat on the little chair in the dressing room and counted to one hundred. The mirror-lined walls reflected his expression into infinity. When enough time had passed he walked out to find Catherine with several more pairs of pants. Corduroys, khakis, cargo pants… Trowa kept the one pair he'd tried on and surrendered the others.

"You need more than just one," his sister argued. Her eyes gleamed with shopping fervor. He had never once seen his sister grow tired of shopping. "Everything you have is too small." She gestured to the peeping glance of his sock-clad ankles his current jeans permitted.

Ignoring her, Trowa wandered through the tables until he found duplicates of the pair in his hands. Catherine trailed after him, abandoning her selections along the way. Trowa got two in dark denim, two in a stone wash, and two in black. "Well… I guess that'll work," Catherine said, voice heavy with disappointment. She took the jeans from him and slung them over her arm. "Now for some shirts. You like green, don't you?"

Trowa trailed after her reluctantly. His sister snagged a multitude of colors and styles off the racks and set them up against his back to check the size. She kept up a stream of one-sided conversation the entire time, leaving Trowa with little to do. Eventually she settled on a handful of shirts she liked and they went off to find a register. On the way they passed the shoes and she noticeably slowed, eyes devouring the selection of colorful high-heels. She glanced once at his battered tennis shoes and suddenly Trowa found himself sitting on a little bench with his socked foot shoved into a metal size guide.

"You're growing so fast!" Catherine gushed. She started bringing over boxes of shoes for him to try on. "I was still taller than you not so long ago." While Trowa methodically worked his way through the parade of sneakers, his sister longingly hovered over a set of lavender wedges with long, ballerina-style ribbons. "Did any of them fit?" she called over. She picked up the shoe to examine it from every possible angle.

Trowa picked out the shoes he liked best and set the box on top his pile of new clothes. After a while Catherine reluctantly set the wedges back down and came over to view his selection. She glanced briefly inside the box before scooping up the whole pile into her arms. As they left, Trowa flipped the little white tag around to check the price on the wedges. It appalled him someone would create hundred dollar shoes. He was glad Catherine hadn't blown her money on them. When could she wear them? Girls could be so impractical sometimes.

The lady at the register gleefully chatted with his sister while the clothes were being wrung up. After a moment, Trowa realized they knew each other. He tried to blend in with a display of sweaters, but Catherine snagged him out. "Bethany," she was saying, "this is my little brother, Trowa. Bethany and I had classes together, Trowa."

"Hi, Trowa," she chirped. "Nice to meet you."

"He's shy," Catherine hastily explained. She fished around in her clutch for a moment before pulling out her slim little wallet.

"I guess," the girl replied. "It's $364.76 all together. So what classes are you taking next semester?"

Trowa pulled out his wallet as well, but Catherine waved it away. "I got it," she told him, whipping out her check card. Spots of pink appeared on her cheeks as she passed it over to her friend. "Oh, I'm not taking anything," his sister said lightly. "I work now."

"Oh, really?" the girl took the card and ran it through. "That's cool." She slid the receipt across the counter along with a pen. "Yeah. I just do this in the summer. It pays all right. What do you do?"

"Research and development," Catherine lied. She quickly scribbled her name and pocketed the carbon copy. "Be seeing you." She took the bag holding Trowa's shoes and he looped the rest over his arm. They escaped quickly, Catherine's face gaining more and more red. Trowa awkwardly fell back so he wouldn't have to see her struggling for composure.

Catherine had been in her second week of classes six months ago when she'd come home to find her roommate unexpectedly out and her little brother on the kitchen floor. It hadn't been Trowa's intention to cause her to drop out. He liked the idea of her getting a degree. She had been studying biology. Trowa fell back even further until the back of Catherine's head was just visible between the gaps of teens and gossiping mothers. She'd dropped out of school, packed up her stuff, and moved into the city just to be close to the hospital.

The multitude of bags suddenly felt very heavy as Trowa trudged along. The doctors had said with another hour alone he would have succeeded. He hated playing the what if game, but that one hour's difference always nagged at him. It always seemed a matter of "if." If only the prescription had been full, if only the bushes hadn't broken his fall, if only Catherine hadn't come home early. If only—

Catherine caught back up with him, her eyes bright and attentive on his face. "Here, those look heavy. Why don't I run them out to the car? There's a bookstore just over there," she pointed. "You can look for another puzzle book, or something. I'll catch back up in a few minutes?" She smiled softly, reaching for the bags.

Trowa stared at her. She had not left him alone for even so much as a second the entire time he had been home from the hospital, relying on the elderly woman next door before taking him with her to work. It seemed now that she was trying to show him a little trust, a little independence. What kind of trouble could he get into at the mall, after all? He nodded, handing her the heavy bags of clothes. She looked over her shoulder once before disappearing into the crowd.

A pair of mothers stood talking over the heads of their children outside the bookstore. Some new book was featured prominently on cardboard displays outside the storefront. A blond teenager in a faded blue shirt was reading the book.

Trowa stopped walking so abruptly that the man behind him strode over the back of his heels. He ignored the apology and stepped forward slowly, it felt like moving underwater, surely his eyes were playing tricks on him, surely he was dreaming, surely he had to be mistaken.

Trowa closed a hand over the boy's elbow. He startled and turned. Aquamarine eyes, so blue and deep he could fall in them, drown in them, stared up at him.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

This is almost like a part two, since I'm posting chapters 35 and 36 back to back. I guess you can see why I was working on them simultaneously.

Thank you for reading. I hope to see you again soon.

Also I haven't used FFN in nearly 4 years, so if the formatting is strange... forgive me.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	37. Lost

LSC / 11-30-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Seven: Lost)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 37

**Lost**

* * *

"Trowa?" asked Quatre. He stared up at bright green eyes that mirrored his own surprise. The book fell from his hands, Trowa fumbled to catch it at the same time as Quatre, and they ended up clutching each other's hands instead. Quatre's cheeks flooded with a blush as he snatched his hands away, quickly reclaiming the book from the floor. "What are you doing here?"

Trowa raised both brows, as if to say, _I could ask you the same thing_.

Quatre broke into a sudden smile, holding both the book and his bear close to his chest as the impulsive urge to hug Trowa overtook him. He refrained, however, putting all his squeezing power into Sandy and the book. "This is so great," he said softly. "I'm so glad Wufei escaped now."

Trowa's brows swept down, furrowing as he puzzled over Quatre's words. The taller boy swiveled his head this way and that, scanning the crowd anxiously for something, Quatre did not know. Trowa took his elbow again and led him gently into the bookstore, tucking them into a corner where he could still keep an eye on the entrance.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Quatre looked up patiently, fascinated by just being able to stand next to Trowa again, to see him. Trowa swallowed, hard, and tried again, voice a little hoarse from disuse. "Quatre," he said at last. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Quatre felt a shiver down his spine at that deep velvet tone saying his name. He blushed slightly, embarrassed by the reaction. "Well, it's a long story…" It tumbled out of him in a rush, pretty much everything that had happened since Trowa left, including Heero's visit and Zechs joining the group and Wufei acting strange. Trowa listened, patient as always, every so often looking away from Quatre's face to look at the bookstore entrance. "And that's when I thought I would just wander the mall a little," Quatre finished up his explanation.

"You ran?" Trowa's mouth quirked up into a strange little smile.

"Well, I guess," Quatre shyly returned the smile. "When you put it that way."

"But you're going back?"

Quatre shrugged. "I have to."

Trowa stepped forward, quite close, almost looming over him. His green eyes burned into Quatre a strange intensity, and he found himself tilting his head back with a strange feeling of anticipation. Trowa lips parted, as if to speak, or to… Quatre rocked his weight forward, ready to lift up on to his toes. His heart beat wildly. Surely Trowa could hear it. He dug his fingers into the plush fur of his bear.

"Don't go," Trowa whispered, the words only audible because they were close, so close. Maybe he was reading those lips, not hearing them speak, but nevertheless Quatre understood the words, and they sent a tremor through him. "Don't go back."

Quatre started to shake his head, his eyes never drifting from that intense look. His breath caught lightly in his throat as Trowa lowered over him, that sweep of russet bangs tickling Quatre's closed eyes as their lips met in the softest, sweetest of kisses. Quatre tipped forward on to his toes. Trowa's hands gripped his shoulders, but whether to hold him back or pull him closer, Quatre did not try to find out. He all but leapt into the touch, forcing Trowa to grab him tight or let him fall.

Quatre rested his cheek against the thin material of Trowa's shirt, and tried to decide if it was his heart he heard, racing madly, or Trowa's. The taller boy ducked his head, folding himself over Quatre for a moment before slowly, gently separating them. His hands firmly clutched Quatre's shoulders and did not let go, not even when Quatre lifted one cautious hand and ran a finger very lightly down the red scars. He had never seen them before, Trowa always having worn long sleeves at the hospital.

"Quatre…" said Trowa helplessly.

Quatre snapped his hand away, a hot blush flooding his face. "I'm sorry."

Trowa shook his head. He squeezed Quatre's shoulders briefly before running his hands down the length of his arms to gather the young boy's hands in his own. "Don't apologize," he said quietly, looking down at their interlocked fingers. He started to say something else but hesitated, head swiveling around to stare over the shelves and out at the bookstore entrance.

Quatre was too short to see past the shelves, unlike Trowa, but he turned anyways. "What is it?" he asked. He felt a keen disappointment when Trowa released their hands.

"My sister," Trowa said. "I have to go."

"What?" His heart sunk, low and heavy, in his chest. He hitched Sandy more securely under his arm and reached for Trowa, trying to reclaim his hands. "But…"

Pain flashed in Trowa's eyes as he pulled away, taking a careful step back. "You're right. You have to go back. And I…" He shook his head. "Bye, Quatre," he said quietly, in a tone that sent another shiver down Quatre's spine, but not in the good way.

He lunged forward, catching Trowa's wrist. "S-stop! What about…?" His voice faltered and faded, cheeks coloring as he recalled their kiss. He couldn't voice the question, afraid of the answer, and Quatre reluctantly released Trowa. A million little pleas bounced around his head; don't go, don't say goodbye, don't hurt yourself, don't forget about me, please let me see you again, please… Quatre bit his lip.

Trowa jammed his hands securely into his pockets, shoulders hunching as he stepped out into the center aisle. Quatre watched, hidden behind the bookcase, as his sister walked up and cheerily tried to engagement him in a one-sided conversation.

"Find anything interesting, anything you want to get?" She asked.

Trowa shook his head. Her bright smile did not waver, and Catherine picked up a book at random from a display table. "This one looks interesting!" she gushed, reading the blurb across the back to Trowa. He looked past her, to where Quatre stood, and their eyes met.

_I'm sorry_, his eyes seemed to say.

Quatre smiled, hesitantly, and then dug deep within himself to strengthen that smile. _It's okay_. He lifted his hand in a small wave, fingers waggling near his face. Quatre turned away and slipped out of the bookstore, hopefully without Catherine seeing, although it was unlikely she would recognize him. Earlier he had been giddy at the idea of wandering the mall, but now, without Trowa, it just seemed pointless.

He took the same route back to the theater as he had leaving it, around the back way with all the dumpsters. The fire doors did not open from the outside, however, so Quatre had to go through the front. The orderly in red scrubs stood outside the doors. Quatre sighed; time to get caught, get in trouble, and go back to the institution. He'd have to tell Zechs and Duo that he lost Wufei.

Amazingly enough, the orderly just waved a hand at him. "Theater's closed, kid, until 4."

Quatre tried not to let his surprise show. His hand went briefly to his shirt, where he'd taken off his name badge. Unfortunately he was not thinking about Sandy, and the movement shifted the bear from under his arm.

The orderly frowned, visibly connecting the pieces. "Hey… wait a second. Get over here!" Quatre obediently stepped forward, but kept well out of arm's reach. "You sneaking off, kid?" the orderly accused. "What happened to your badge?"

"I…" Quatre dug his fingers into Sandy. "I had to use the bathroom."

"Outside? Come on, kid, don't get me in trouble, let's go." The orderly jerked a hand toward the theater. Quatre saw a pack of cigarettes in his hand, and suddenly felt very sly and secretive.

He nodded, not wanting to press his luck, and hurried into the empty theater. He had forgotten which screen the movie was being shown on, but it didn't matter. As soon as he stepped into the long hallway one of the nurses caught him. She was supervising another patient bent over the water fountain, but her sharp eyes found Quatre easily enough.

"What are you doing out here?" she demanded. "Where's your badge?"

"I had to use the bathroom," Quatre repeated. It was a very boring lie, and he delivered it without much conviction.

She looked at him suspiciously. He tried to look innocent under her scrutiny. The girl at the water fountain straightened up and wiped a hand over the back of her mouth; it was Dorothy, her eyes jagged with curiosity as she looked at Quatre.

"What's your name?" the nurse asked Quatre, frowning. She looked at Sandy, firmly under his elbow. "Watman? Witmore?"

"Winner," he admitted. No point in hiding it. He felt very tired all of a sudden, worn out like an old dishrag. He just wanted to go back to the hospital, where things were at least familiar, and slip into his old routines. Maybe if he ate enough terrible food and suffered through enough therapy sessions, he could forget the feel of Trowa's lips on his and the warmth of his hands.

Quatre lowered his eyes to floor as the nurse continued to puzzle over him. "Get back inside, Catalonia," the nurse said. She watched carefully as Dorothy disappeared into the theater. The nurse rounded on Quatre. "What were you doing?"

"... I had to use the bathroom." It was not a better lie the second time around.

"Where's your badge?"

"It, um, I lost it. In the toilet."

She stared at him. She reached for and found his elbow, and Quatre flinched away from the touch. "Come on," she said firmly. "Back inside. Finish the movie." She made to grab him again, and Quatre hurried out of range, toward the theater door. He all but bolted inside, wanting to preempt her attempts at physically corralling him. The movie was some silly animated film, probably similar to what Duo and Zechs were watching back at the institution. Quatre slipped into the nearest empty seat with a long sigh.

He curled back in his seat and paid very little attention to the movie. He rested Sandy on his knee and plucked at the bear's plastic eye, thoughts restless. He couldn't stop thinking about Trowa. Was he happy, with his sister? It had been hard to tell. Quatre shuddered, remembering the red scars he'd been so bold to touch. His heart raced with panic just thinking about if Trowa... His fingers tightened convulsively into Sandy's face, hard enough he feared for a second the poor bear's eye might come free in his hand. He smoothed his fingers over the fur in mute apology.

The movie credits were rolling over a fake outtakes reel when someone dropped into the seat next to Quatre, startling him from his thoughts. Quatre scrambled upright and hissed Wufei's name in disbelief.

Wufei shook his head slightly, lifting a finger to his lips. Quatre looked around quickly; the nurses were gathering near the front of the theater, below the screen, and the orderlies were along the sides. "Where were you?" Quatre whispered.

"Shh," murmured Wufei. He looked back over his shoulder. Quatre followed his gaze and saw, to his surprise, the caseworker. She had her arms over her chest, watching Wufei carefully. At seeing their mutual looks, the woman smiled and gave Wufei a short nod, which he returned. She turned on a heel and left, just as the lights to the theater came back on and one of the nurses began to call for their attention.

They were summarily rounded up, lined up, counted up, and boarded up into the bus. Several of the others groaned and complained that if they were only going to see a movie, they could have just stayed at the hospital. Quatre spotted Relena and Dorothy in the green group, just ahead of them getting on to the bus. He and Wufei ended up seated in the middle of the bus, directly behind the dual blonde heads.

Was it his imagination, or did the nurses seem to be looking at him as they whispered near the front of the bus? Quatre tried to sink lower into his seat, as if he could hide. Maybe the floor would open up, and he could slip out that way, and find Trowa again. Maybe it wasn't too late to change his mind.

As soon as the bus rolled out into traffic, Dorothy popped her head up over the back of the seat. "Hey," she said. "You suck at escape attempts."

Before Quatre could say anything, Wufei flushed pink and sputtered, "I wasn't trying to escape!"

"Oho," chuckled Dorothy. "And a guilty conscious makes its appearance. I wasn't talking to you, but now I am. Did you both sneak out?" She suddenly let out a theatrical gasp. "Does this mean Milliard is back on the market?"

"Catalonia, sit down!" called the green orderly.

"Don't think this is over!" Dorothy hissed, whirling around to face the front. The whispered sounds of her filling in Relena on the details drifted over the rumbling hum of the bus motor.

Wufei turned a red face to the window and stared out at the passing traffic. After a while, he spoke without turning to look at Quatre. "Did you follow me?"

"Um," said Quatre. "Just to the parking lot."

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Just a little," Quatre admitted. He kept quiet about the rest, especially running into Trowa. He touched his lower lip and felt his cheeks growing hot with the memory. Even though Wufei wasn't looking at him, Quatre scrunched lower in his seat and buried his face into Sandy's stomach, the neck-ribbon tickling his forehead.

"Sorry," muttered Wufei, almost too quiet to be heard. He adjusted his glasses, but said nothing more, and they made the rest of the trip back in silence.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Wow! You guys are still reading! That's so awesome. I'm absolutely blown away by the fact that I still have readers. Thank you! I hope you are enjoying the new material.

I recently gave the entire story another read through. As to be expected for something that's been written over such a long period of time, I've noticed a few continuity errors. I'm sure there are also some typos and grammatical mistakes. And I know the formatting is messed up; page breaks and italics are missing from several chapters. Sorry about that, everyone. I'll make it up to you somehow.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	38. Falling

LSC / 12-1-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Eight: Falling)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 38

**Falling**

* * *

Immediately after they were marched off the bus and safely redistributed to the hospital's oppressive walls, Quatre was summoned aside by one of the nurses, the one who had caught him sneaking back into the theater. She was flanked by two orderlies, the green and red ones, whose scrubs clashed as they stood side by side and looming. Quatre took Sandy's ear into his mouth and bit down, hard.

"Winner, come with me," she said briskly. She thought to take his arm, but Quatre shifted just enough to stay out of range. Fortunately did not press the matter, and waved him into the nurse's station. He sat where she gestured, into a mint-green, hard plastic chair. "What were you doing outside the theater?" she asked, deceptively sweet.

"I… had to use the bathroom," Quatre mumbled around Sandy's ear.

"Take that out of your mouth and answer the question," said the red orderly, the covert smoker.

Quatre focused on making himself very small. If he could disappear, he would.

The nurse persisted. "Did you sneak out?"

She wore sensible white shoes with velcro straps, but one of the straps was undone. Quatre nudged the tile with the toe of his sneaker.

"Search him for contraband," the nurse said with a sigh. Quatre looked up in alarm. Before he could move, before he could say anything, the green orderly clamped a strong hand over his shoulder.

And that's when he started screaming.

* * *

"And the popcorn was stale and tasted burnt, like how do you even fuck up popcorn that badly? It has to be a malicious act of sabotage or something, I'm convinced," Duo rambled at Wufei without really hearing the words tumbling from his lips. The younger boy stood mute under the assault, poised warily and on edge, as if waiting for a physical blow to strike him down.

The lucky "we get to leave for a few hours" kids had just returned, streaming into the common area in ones and twos. Duo had not been sure at first his eyes were cooperating when he spotted Wufei among the crowd; honestly, he'd been half expecting, half fearing Wufei would not return. He'd been unable to resist throwing his arms around the boy, Wufei stiff and yielding beneath him, and had begun to talk for a lack of anything better to do. He was good at that.

"Where's Quatre?" asked Zechs, who had been silent up to that point.

Wufei flinched a look over his shoulder, and then frowned. "He was right behind me."

"Wait, what?" Duo asked. He rose up on the tips of his toes to look out over the sea of patients and partitions and chairs. The only blonde heads he spotted were the girls. Dorothy saw him and changed directions. "Did you lose Quatre?" Duo asked in disbelief.

"No, he was right here," Wufei protested.

Dorothy broke in among them, Relena right behind her. "Hey, there you are. I told you I wasn't through," she jabbed a finger at Wufei. "What's this about sneaking out with Quatre?" Although she spoke to Wufei, her eyes were anchored on Zechs's face. He looked uncomfortable with the attention.

"I did not," Wufei took a cautious step back. "Winner followed me."

"Oh, man," groaned Duo. He exchanged a knowing look with Zechs. "So you did try to escape!"

"No!" Wufei insisted. "I was not trying to escape. Catalonia is mistaken."

Dorothy tossed her head, scattering her long fall of gold hair. "So you went off to do whatever and then came back? What a waste of opportunity! How is it that Quatre got caught sneaking back in and you didn't?" She huffed out a sigh. "Did you at least do anything cool with your brief freedom?"

"Wait," Duo interrupted. "Quatre got in trouble?"

"He followed me," Wufei repeated.

Duo and Zechs exchanged another look. "Fuck," said Zechs.

"Yeah, I agree." Duo shook his head. They'd been the ones pressuring Quatre to keep an eye on Wufei, and it seemed to have backfired. He turned to Wufei. "What the hell did you do?" Duo asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Wufei opened his mouth, maybe to respond, maybe to tell Duo to mind his own business (which seemed the more likely scenario) but something stopped him. It stopped them all, pouring through them like a cold wave. Duo shuddered, even Dorothy gave pause, as the great keening wail soared into the silence. It was a howling, wretched scream, the sound of which rose the air along Duo's arms.

"What the hell?" said Zechs. He alone looked around in confusion for the source of the noise.

"Quatre," groaned Duo. "That's Quatre. Shit! What are those bastards doing to him?" He broke from the group and went forward on long, angry strides. The screams were definitely coming from… Duo adjusted his trajectory, but found someone latched over his arm, pulling with insistence.

"Maxwell, don't," Wufei anchored his feet to no avail. He stumbled along, rather than let Duo drag him. "Stop!"

Duo turned in a fury. "This is your fault for running off!"

Wufei's dark eyes glinted steel in response. "I never asked him to follow me."

"No, we did," Zechs said quietly, hands shoved into the pockets of his khaki pants. Relena and Dorothy stayed where they had left them, heads together in conspiratorial whispers. Zechs continued in the same soft tone, "We were worried about you."

Duo jerked his arm free of Wufei's suddenly slackened grip. "Yeah, well," Duo grumbled. He was loathed to admit Zechs was right, and the dumbstruck look on Wufei's face unnerved him almost as much as Quatre's screams, which rose in pitch before abruptly ending.

The three of them exchanged uneasy, guilty looks; Quatre only stopped screaming when they tranquilized him. Zechs leaned forward to say something to Wufei, too quiet for Duo to overhear (and boy did he try) but Wufei pulled his head away, shaking it slowly side to side like a wounded animal.

"I never asked you to worry," Wufei said. He tried and failed to maintain a glare.

Duo fixed his eyes on the nurses' station, waiting for the door to open. "Come off it, 'Fei, what did you expect us to do? You said it yourself, you'll get released this week with good behavior... and then you haul off and punch me, try to disrupt therapy - your plan wasn't exactly subtle. And for all the times you bitched at me for bad behavior, for running off, for skipping my meds and shit! You're always a model patient, why the hell wouldn't you want to get released from here? Never asked me to worry? You damned idiot, of course I'd worry about you! We're friends."

Wufei flinched as if the words were bullets. "I..." he said. High blotches of color appeared on his cheeks. His dark eyes grew round and luminous, wet like fresh ink. He blinked quickly, lashes clumping with unshed tears.

"Hey," Duo said gently. "Don't cry." He reached for Wufei's shoulder.

"I'm not!" Wufei snapped. His voice shook unsteadily, betraying his denial. He knocked Duo's hand away and took a step back, colliding into Zechs. "Just, shut up! Shut up, Maxwell!" the words came out with a sob, and Wufei spun away from them both. He broke off running and barreled right through a nurse. She shouted after him and, when he neither stopped nor turned, hurried after him still shouting.

Duo started to follow, but a firm grip on his arm stopped him. "Let me go," he growled at Zechs.

"No," said the taller boy. His fingers curled tight over Duo's elbow. "Leave him alone. Haven't you done enough?"

"You're one to talk! You got him into this mess in the first place, screwing around with Treize like that. He was fine until you showed up. What the fuck is wrong with you anyway? Who does that to someone? It's _his_ body. You might as well have raped him."

Zechs's nails dug into his arm until Duo gave a sharp yelp of pain and tried to jerk away. Zechs held on tight, and when he spoke it came out rough and dangerous, like a caged tiger. "You listen, Duo Maxwell, because I'm only going to say this once. What happened, that's between me and Wufei, and fuck you if you think I'm going to let you say something like that ever again. Do you hear me?"

This time when Duo tried to pull his arm free, Zechs released him. He overbalanced and had to windmill his other arm to keep from stumbling. "Fuck you," Duo said, out of habit, but without any real heat in his voice. "Don't get pissed at me just because you screwed up."

Zechs grate his teeth together, hard enough that Duo could hear the molars protesting. "You are insufferable. I don't know what Wufei sees in you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't be stupid," Zechs sneered. "I know that might be hard for you."

Duo tumbled a few readied insults around in his head for a moment before replying, and in that hesitation his eyes drifted sideways over Zechs's shoulder. The door to the nurses' station swung open and two orderlies, absurdly Christmas color themed in their scrubs, stepped through with a small, blond bundle hoisted between them. Quatre was on his feet, but just barely, being all but dragged through the commons. His head lolled to one side, like a broken doll's, and Duo forgot all about being pissed at Zechs.

Much as he would have liked to go up and start yelling at the orderlies to get their damn hands off the younger boy, he refrained. He could be a model of self-restraint; why did no one give him credit for that? Duo stalked them down the hall to Quatre's room, which used to be his (he was so over being bitter about that, though, really he was) and waited impatiently for them to leave. The trio went into the room, and after what seemed a longer time than necessary, the orderlies left, leaving the door half-open behind them.

Zechs, damn him, had followed. "Go away." Duo made a shooing motion with his hands. "You're not helping."

Zechs shrugged lazily. "Does he scream like that often?"

Duo bristled, uncomfortably reminded of when he first met Quatre and asked a similar callously worded question. Before he could get worked up into a rage, however, Zechs rolled a shoulder and looked contrite. "I mean, has this happened before? You and Wufei knew it was him right away," Zechs added.

"Just his first day, happened twice… I've seen him go a little panicked, but," Duo lowered his voice to a whisper as he pushed on the door to Quatre's room. "Not like this, not with the screaming."

Quatre was laid out on the bed, head tipped to one side and eyes closed. Duo crept forward cautiously, but even so the boy gave an uneasy stir, head rolling over the pillow. "Hey," Duo called, not wanting to startle him, stopping halfway between the door and the bed.

Quatre rolled on to his side, facing away from them, and curled both arms to his chest as if trying to gather something close. The action tugged at a little edge of Duo's memory until something clicked over into understanding. His teddy bear, missing from the scene, and Duo took a few careful steps forward to search the room. Maybe the orderlies had brought in with them anyway; Duo knew better than to assume Quatre hadn't had the damned thing right there with him before the screaming fit.

"What are you doing?" Zechs hissed in a whisper, looking warily toward the bed.

"His bear, Sandy, it's not here." Duo jerked open the top drawer of the dresser, which was empty. Oh, yeah, his stuff had been in there before. Quatre clearly had no expanded into the open area of the room. Everything looked exactly as he'd left it, minus all his crap of course. He slammed the drawer with more force than necessarily, causing Quatre to shift again. Duo held his breath, but Quatre just seemed to curl tighter in on himself, eyes still closed.

"Come on, let's go," Duo jerked his head toward the door. Once they were out in the hall, Duo pulled the door closed and leaned back against it. He twirled the end of his braid over his mouth, thinking. "He'll be out for a while. I want to get his bear back before he wakes up and realizes the damn thing's missing. You want to stand there and watch or help?"

Zechs hesitated, looking up the hallway and then over to Duo. "What do you have in mind?

Duo paused for a moment, nipping gently at the loose ends of his hair. "You make a distraction at dinner, after I've eaten, so I'll have a legit reason to be hanging around the station for med checks. Make a huge scene, something that'll draw their attention. I'll sneak into the nurses' station and get it. You could knock Relena's dinner tray into her lap, or punch Dorothy in the face. Maybe do both of those things, start a huge food fight."

Zechs stared at him for a moment, and then walked away.

"Hey!" Duo shouted, hurrying to keep pace with Zechs's much longer legs and swift stride. "All right, you don't have to punch Dorothy. I wouldn't be surprised if she got you back with a one-hit K.O. upper cut. I'd be scared, too, of picking a fight with her. How about knocking Relena's tray, though? That's a pretty good one."

"Do me a favor, and shut up," Zechs said mildly. He put a hand into Duo's chest and pushed him, lightly, with just enough force to make him rock back. "Stay here, and don't move."

"What are you…?" Duo's question faded as Zechs walked straight up to the nurses' station and stood there until someone came to see what he wanted. A change passed over Zechs's face when he smiled at the nurse, so that he actually looked charming and polite, less sure of himself, like someone you wanted wrap in a blanket and serve hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows. It was bizarre.

Duo couldn't hear what Zechs was saying to her, but the nurse nodded agreeably. Zechs smiled again, this time apologetic, and the nurse disappeared for a moment. She returned holding Sandrock, all cream fur and dark paws, and just handed the bear over. Just like that.

Duo knew what sort of slack-jawed idiocy had to be stamped over his face, and he tried to straighten up and look unaffected when Zechs came walking over with a cocksure grin in place. Zechs barely kept the gloat out of his voice when he said, "Didn't your mother ever tell you? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar." He swung the bear by its paw once, twice, and sent it sailing in an arc toward Duo.

He caught it easily and managed to scare up a scowl. "My plan would have worked," Duo objected. He started walking back to Quatre's room with his prize. For some reason, he just assumed that Zechs would follow, but it was not until he reached the closed door of Quatre's room that he found it was otherwise. Duo frowned at the hallway; well, good riddance, the smug bastard would have just wanted to gloat about it some more, maybe even hang around until Quatre wore up, and milked the younger boy for gratitude and awe.

Duo pushed open the door. Quatre lay in the same position as before, and Duo tiptoed carefully around to the edge of the bed. He plunked the teddy bear down into the gap between Quatre's thin arms and his chest, and the boy stirred. His fingers curled and straightened against the plush fur, the motion reminding Duo of a mewling kitten. Quatre pulled Sandy close, his whole body curling around the small bear.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I guess I don't have much to say except thank you, thank you so much, for still being around. I can only guess at the surprise many of you must have had seeing an update notification. I very much hope you are enjoying the story still, and please look forward to more soon.

Thank you for reading!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	39. Resolution

LSC / 12-3-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Thirty-Nine: Resolution)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 39

**Resolution**

* * *

Uneasy dreams of falling shifted abruptly into being awake, and Quatre found himself staring blearily into Sandy's dark plastic eyes as the sound of the dinner chime faded into a silence. His stomach twisted suddenly, and he curled into an even tighter ball around his bear. His throat felt raw, and Quatre swallowed uneasily as he realized what that must mean. When he moved, an echoing sound of rustling fabric caught his attention, and someone spoke his name quietly, full of question.

He thought about just closing his eyes and ignoring the whole world until it all just went away and let him be, but instead Quatre gave a small nod of his head. He did not trust his voice yet. He got one trembling arm under himself and then the other, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position on the bed.

Duo stood nearby, watching him with concern. "Heya, kiddo. How are you feeling?"

Quatre shook his head, slowly, but regretted the action nevertheless due to the gleeful way his vision tossed itself sideways and back.

Duo took a cautious step forward and reached out; when Quatre did not pull away, he settled a warm hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "What'd they use on you this time?" he muttered, half to himself. "Here, come on, let's get some food in you. You'll feel better on a full stomach."

Rather than shake his head again, Quatre carefully pulled Sandy close and tucked his knees up under his chin, trapping the bear between his thighs and chest.

"Yeah, let's go," Duo insisted, the words velvet over steel. "You'll feel better once you eat something."

When Quatre made no effort to move, or even respond, Duo gently put both arms around him and tugged him off the bed. It was either straighten out his legs and stand, or fall to the floor. Even though he tried, Quatre found it too impossible with the shaky way his vision slipped and slid, and he sat back on to the bed. It was more comfortable than the floor at least. He studied all six of Sandy's eyes, which shrunk to only two and then doubled to four while he watched, fascinated.

Duo tugged him up again, but this time tucked a strong arm around his waist so he could not fall. Awkwardly the two of them got out into the hall and toward the cafeteria. Quatre was only half aware of the trip, as his head felt as stuffed and cottony as Sandy's, and the thought that he, too, was a plush bear and therefore unable to feel sad or sorrowful or lonely, that thought made him giggle.

"What's so funny?" Duo murmured, the sound of his voice amplified by their closeness. Quatre just shook his head and pulled away some, able to trust his legs a bit more now that they were almost there. Duo let him go, hovering in case he grew dizzy or stumbled, as they stood in line.

Quatre stared at his plate as the food appeared; a mound of glistening, curly noodles, lumpy red sauce, two pieces of jaundiced bread, and a small bowl of wobbling red cubes. He shuffled to the end of the line, pushing his tray over the metal bars in small bursts so that the jello slipped sideways and his carton of milk toppled. Duo reached over him and grabbed one end of the tray, which tipped dangerously to one side but did not spill as he lifted it with one hand, so that he carried both their trays to the table.

Quatre peered through the veil of his bangs as he followed Duo. Zechs had beaten them through the line already, and sat by himself at their usual table. Duo hesitated, as if he was going to pick a different spot to eat, but Quatre plowed ahead and dropped wearily into the chair across from Zechs. He heard and felt, rather than saw, Duo sit next to him. His food tray hit the table in front of him, but Quatre did not move.

"Hey," said Zechs. "You all right?"

"Lay off him," Duo warned, words sharp but tone soft.

"What? Stop trying to tell me what to do."

"Seriously, Zechs, shut it."

"Fuck you, I can be concerned if I want."

Quatre sunk low into his chair, practically eye-level with the table, with Sandy up across his face like a shield.

"Hey, stop that," Duo chided gently. He found Quatre's arm and coaxed him upright. "We're not fighting, okay? No one's mad at you."

Quatre peaked out from between Sandy's ears and cautiously lowered the bear into his lap, both arms wrapped tight around his middle. His gaze drifted slowly from Duo's reassuring smile to Zechs's worried curiosity and then out and over the sea of chairs and tables and people and food. The rumbling sound of dozens of conversations washed over him, and dimly he realized Duo was saying something, the words indistinct and distant. He felt very far away all of a sudden, falling like he had been in his dream.

The colors of the room all came together, multiplying and melting until all he could see was darkness. A small pinprick of light suddenly rushed toward him, and the room came back into focus. The faint buzzing sound of his name being spoken, quite loud and quite near, shook him back into his body, and Quatre flinched away from a sudden hand on his arm.

"…gone pale as milk," Duo was saying. His brilliant amethyst eyes were dark and heavy with concern as he tipped into Quatre's line of sight. Duo's braid tumbled over the table and snaked around his plate of spaghetti. "Quatre? Kiddo? You still in there? Come back to us, okay?"

"What the hell did they do him?" Zechs twirled his fork through the noodles, lost them on the way to his mouth, and then stabbed at his dinner with more force than necessary to reclaim it. Quatre flinched again.

"Don't," Duo whispered, leaning across the table. "You're making him nervous. Just… chill out, or go sit somewhere else."

Zechs opened his mouth to argue, the angry words brimming close to the surface. With a quick, guilty look to Quatre, however, he fell silent. He twirled together another bundle of spaghetti, which stayed looped around the tines of his fork this time. Quatre dropped his gaze to his own unappetizing tray.

"Oh," said Duo. "Zechs, switch me spots. Or, wait, switch Quatre spots… no, me, definitely switch me, so the empty seat—"

"What are you babbling about? Oh," Zechs said, in much the same tone as Duo. They both sounded resigned to a great deal of unpleasantness, and Quatre lifted his eyes to search out what sort of trouble was in store. He found a familiar dark head breaking off from the food line, but as the boy crossed to their table he realized the problem.

Treize lowered into the empty seat next to Zechs with languid grace, although the flashing look in his eyes reminded Quatre of a bristled up cat, all hiss and puff and bravado. "Good evening, please don't look magnificently thrilled to see me or anything, my ego can take it."

"Hello, Treize," said Duo pleasantly. "It's good to see you."

"What a fabulous little white lie, and delivered so sweetly at that. Either you're in trouble or I am, and I'm in too good of a mood to feel guilty, so whatever it is I did, I'm sorry, and whatever it is you did, I forgive you. Kisses, flowers, etc. etc." Treize waved his empty fork in the air before spearing a cube of jello. Despite his haughty air and careless words, a definite and distinct puffiness underlined each dark eye.

"Mmm, this spaghetti tastes only half as bland and slimy as usual. Quatre, you are definitely missing out," Duo said. "Don't you think so, Zechs?"

"What? Yeah." Zechs snapped his eyes away from his careful study of Trieize's face… or, rather, Wufei's face, with Treize's features… Quatre puzzled over that for a moment. He felt at once both very wise and quite foolish and that confused him.

"I feel really bad for anyone not enjoying this awesome spaghetti dinner," Duo continued. "It's possibly the single greatest meal I have ever consumed in my entire life."

"I can't tell if this is some fabulous new form of sarcasm or your taste buds have finally committed suicide after the repeated culinary assaults of the kitchen here, but the food sucks," said Treize.

"No, I agree with Duo, this is actually pretty good." Zechs chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "It's better than the meatloaf, at least, or anything they serve with surprise in the title."

"I'm now concerned this food contains some sort of mass hallucinogen," Treize said dryly. "Now look at Quatre here, he…" and his voice trailed off, as Treize heeded his own advice and actually looked at the small blonde for the first time since sitting down.

Seated side by side as they were, Quatre couldn't help but take note of Duo's leg shooting out to tread over Treize's foot. "He loves spaghetti," Duo broke in fiercely. "In fact, I'll probably have to sneak into the kitchens later and steal the recipe, because there is no way something this fantastic can be forgotten. I'll have to construct a small shrine in Quatre's room, in honor of this meal, to commemorate the exact level of deliciousness."

The last thing Quatre felt like doing was eating, but to appease Duo he gingerly picked up his fork and poked at his meal. He separated out a single strand of spaghetti, cut it in half, and carefully stabbed the fork tines through the length of the split noodle. This he did not eat, however, but merely dragged around the edge of the plate for a bit.

Quatre glanced up from his neglected dinner in time to see Treize shift in his seat and reach under the table. Zechs shot to his feet so abruptly that Quatre dropped his fork and Duo choked on his milk. High blooms of color danced across his face, and Zechs hastily gathered up his tray. "I'm done, see you," he said in a rush, all but bolting the table.

"Really, Treize," muttered Duo under his breath, "Give the guy a break."

"You have something to say, Duo?"

"Nope," Duo said with a jagged grin. "Unless you want to hear me wax poetic on this spaghetti some more, 'cause I'd be glad to oblige… Quatre, you're really missing out."

Quatre decided that his ruse was a doomed effort. He grabbed both sides of the tray and stood, with very precise movements, battling back the sudden vertigo that snatched wildly at him. He ignored Duo's first protest, and then the second as well, without even registering the words. He wove his way through the cafeteria to dump off his untouched tray and then went to meekly submit to the evening medicine check.

The nurse handed him the tiny plastic cup, and Quatre peered down at the three pills inside. The two round blue ones he expected, but the fat red cylinder was new. The nurse crossed her arms as if she expected trouble, but Quatre just swallowed them all in one go with the help of a little water. The red pill could have been cyanide for all he cared.

Back in the relative safety of his own room, Quatre leaned his back against the door and crushed Sandy to his racing heart. He braced, anticipating at any moment that Duo would appear in the hall and knock and call his name and intrude into his room with unwelcomed concern and pity. He stood there for a long time, until his knees grew weak with sudden relief, and Quatre slumped to the floor. Sandy's fur felt soft as ever as he buried his face into the top of the bear's head, the rounded ears poking gently into either of his cheeks.

"I can't," he whispered. His lips brushed the fur as he spoke, and unbidden the memory of Trowa's kiss sprung into his heart. The words were a lie, and it was in that moment he reached a decision.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Due to changes in the way FFN formats, I noticed quite a few of the earlier chapters are missing their page breaks and italics, and other such things. If you are re-reading the story to catch up with the updates, I'm ridiculously sorry about that. I'm going to try and go through and clean that up sometime… but I'm more focused on the new material, so, apologies all around if that ends up taking forever. I assume you're more interested in speedy updates! I'm trying to make up for lost time.

Also I know this chapter is kind of short… I ended up rolling a lot of material over into the next one, so the good news is that the next chapter should be out very soon.

I'm glad people from MediaMiner and other archive sites are rediscovering this story on FFN. I've lost/forgotten the logins for MM, etc. and, at the moment, will only be updating on FFN. Please help spread the word if you know of anyone who might be interested in know I've resumed the story.

As always, thank you for reading and thanks for the reviews letting me know you read it. I appreciate it!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	40. Going Away

LSC / 12-4-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty: Going Away)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 40

**Going Away**

* * *

The next day Quatre rose early and took a long shower, with the water so hot it turned his pale skin red and sent great clouds of steam rising. He found his appetite had returned overnight and ate breakfast quickly, so that when Duo, Meiran, and Zechs came to sit next to him, Quatre was almost done. Duo greeted him cheerfully, but Quatre said nothing and refused to meet his friends' worried looks.

"No," Meiran was saying, "I don't know. Wufei didn't write anything. Are you sure he came back on the bus at all?"

"Er, yes, we're positive," Duo said awkwardly. "He didn't run away. He snuck off and then came back. Quatre, did you see if he met anyone or went anywhere?"

Quatre shoved the last bite of pancake into his mouth and stood, gathering up his empty tray. As he walked away, he heard Duo say behind him, "He's turned into Trowa on us," and the words ripped painfully into his already swollen heart.

The fat red pill was still in his cup with morning meds, and after Quatre got the all-clear from the nurse he retreated back to his room all the way through to lunch. He found the table already full and his friends engaged in a heated conversation. He slipped into the empty seat next to Meiran.

"I know that!" she snapped. She shifted her tray some to make room for Quatre, but otherwise did not break her dark eyes from an attempt to glare at both Zechs and Duo at once. "But I already told you, I don't know anything more than you do! I don't know where he is. I don't know what he did. All I know is was Doctor S said."

Duo looked furious and frustrated, and he twirled his braid around his wrist. Zechs sat stiff, shoulders squared and chin high, but rather than angry, like Duo's snapping amethysts, his ice-blue eyes seemed sad. Quatre nearly piped up with curiosity but took a large bite of his sandwich instead.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Zechs asked quietly, looking sideways at Duo.

"Well, yeah, I mean," Duo sputtered into sudden silence. "Shit. Fuck you for being right."

"I'm sure he won't leave without saying goodbye," Meiran said kindly.

Understandably this did not mollify Duo, but Zechs just frowned at his plate. They ate in silence for a while, until Meiran went still and both Duo and Zechs's heads snapped up like puppets on the same string. Her pigtails came down but the glasses stayed in the shirt pocket, and Treize's smug smile took in the twin looks of eager anticipation that tilted into matched disappointment.

"How is it you both always manage to look so delighted to see me?" he asked.

After lunch they trooped off to therapy. Duo had been leading the way, but he hung back just outside the door without Quatre noticing and caught the small blonde's arm as he tried to walk past. Quatre pulled his arm away, looking up at Duo with a note of confusion.

"You doing okay?" Duo asked. He barreled on without waiting for an answer, since it was clear he was not going to get one anyway. "Listen, so, I don't know what Wufei went off to do yesterday, but I know you followed him. Did you say anything to him? You know, like Zechs and I keep rehearsing with you?" Duo peered anxiously into Quatre's carefully blank face. "If you did, I guess it worked. He's getting released tomorrow."

_Oh_, thought Quatre. _Good for Wufei_.

Duo stared at him for a long moment later, until they were at risk of being late, so Quatre just stepped around him and into the room. Zechs sat between Dorothy and Relena, using the girls as living shields against a clearly frustrated Treize. Doctor Richards looked pointedly at the clock as the two former roommates took their seats.

He talked briefly about the conference, asked after them how they enjoyed the films, and got only Relena's anxious complaints about gum on the bus seat in return. Richards broke them up into pairs again, but of his choosing, so that Duo ended up with Relena, Treize with Zechs, and Quatre with Dorothy. Only Treize seemed pleased with the decision, and he wore a decidedly cat-ate-the canary grin as the six of them rearranged their chairs to face their partners. Relena arranged, and kept arranging, as Duo shifted his chair whenever she wasn't looking.

"…now?"

Quatre shifted his gaze over to Dorothy. He hadn't been listening.

She rolled her eyes. "I said, I guess you aren't talking now. That's going to make this a little awkward. Fair enough, I'll talk, and you try to at least look like you're listening."

Zechs sat as far from Treize as possible without actually crawling over the back of his chair and putting it between them. Treize crossed his arms and tapped his foot and wore a clear look of indifference that ran contrary to his jittery actions. Richards hovered over them, trying to initiate some kind of conversation, but an anguished cry from Relena drew his attention. She had finally caught Duo purposefully tilting his chair crooked, and it took the doctor some time to calm her down and lecture Duo simultaneously.

Dorothy, as promised, kept up a chattering stream of one-sided conversation that Quatre largely let wash over him without regard for the actual words. When the hour finally ended, Richards dismissed everyone except Treize. As they shuffled out the door, Duo looked over his shoulder and then nudged Zechs repeatedly in the side.

"Ow, what?" Zechs snapped. Duo jerked his head with a hissed, "look!" and even Quatre was curious enough to glance back into the room. Wufei adjusted his glasses over his nose and looked up expectantly at the doctor.

Richards caught them trying to linger. "Duo, hurry or you'll be late for individual. Milliard, Quatre, go on. And close the door after you."

"Arrgh, dammit!" Duo swore, once they were out in the hall. "All right. It's just an hour. Zechs, don't piss him off, and don't let him leave! I want to talk to him."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Zechs demanded.

"Don't be an ass, for starters." He turned to leave.

Zechs snagged his arm. "Hey, I'm serious. How the hell am I supposed to keep him from _leaving_?"

"Think of something! I don't know. If he's Meiran or Treize when I get back, I'm going to be super pissed." And Duo was gone, hurrying off to G's office.

"Come on, we can't wait here," Zechs said.

Quatre hesitated before drifting after him. He had a few hours before his individual therapy and was tempted to hide in his room until then, but inquisitiveness got the better of him. And, besides, if Wufei was leaving tomorrow, Quatre wanted to say goodbye as well. _Good for Wufei_, he reminded himself firmly. Still, he couldn't keep from wondering what Wufei had talked about with his caseworker, or where he would go to live now. The curiosity nibbled at Quatre, setting his nerves on edge until he found Sandy's ear with his teeth and worried at it.

Zechs stretched his long legs over the arm of the chair he had flopped into, but after only a few minutes he shifted uncomfortably and ended up draping himself over the opposite arm. He stretched his arms up over his head, the long sleeves of his crisp button-up shirt falling away from his hands and revealing the twin thick bands he wore around his wrists. Quatre found himself remembering the long scars on Trowa's arms, and he looked away quickly as he felt his cheeks heat with a certain flush.

He glanced back over at Zechs. "Ah," he breathed, not quite a sound, but Zechs turned to look at him anyway. Quatre leaned over and flicked a little square of cardboard attached to Zechs's shirt.

"What? Oh," said Zechs. He grabbed the price tag's plastic fastener and tore it free of the shirt. "My mom bought me all these new clothes when I came here. I don't know why, the clothes I had were more comfortable. Waste of her money if you ask me. But thanks," he said, indicating the price tag. "I keep forgetting to check for them."

Zechs found a deck of cards and, when Quatre shook his head at the offer to play something, set up a game of solitaire instead. "Ah," breathed Quatre again, catching sight of Wufei.

Wufei spotted them at about the same time and hesitated, as if to reverse directions or veer off someplace else. His dark eyes tracked toward the library, his favorite hiding place, and Zechs tensed with a white-knuckled grip on the deck of cards. Wufei came over to join them but kept a distance back, wary and alert. "Hello," he said.

"So, congrats," Zechs said awkwardly.

"Oh, yes," Wufei threaded his fingers together and looked down at the results. "Well."

Something odd and awkward took shape between them, something beyond Quatre's understanding, and Duo's earlier line of questioning tumbled over and over in his head.

"Where will you go?" Zechs asked.

Wufei shrugged with an exaggerated carelessness that seemed more Treize than himself. "Somewhere. I—" he broke off, suddenly tense and still, and Zechs shot to his feet as if to grab him, but Wufei took a smooth step back and turned his head to the side. He continued talking as if nothing had happened, eyes averted. Quatre recognized shyness when he saw it, but on Wufei it seemed unfitting. "I owe you an apology. You, and Winner," Wufei looked at him. Really looked at him, and frowned.

"Don't ask," Zechs whispered suddenly, leaning into the buffer zone Wufei had created between them.

Wufei's eyes flashed to him warily, but he did not pull away. "Fine," he replied in the same hushed tone, as if Quatre was not right there and listening to every word they said. Wufei lifted his chin, the shy look vanishing as he scrambled for, and found, his normal reserved calm. "I apologize for the undue concern," he said stiffly.

"Ah," sighed Quatre. They must not have heard him or, if they did, ignored him, so both Wufei and Zechs were caught by surprise when Duo bounced up near them. Wufei startled and once again looked poised on the verge of fleeing, but Zechs shifted slightly, equally tensed and ready to respond, and Wufei held calm.

"Hello," he said again, in much the same wary tone he had greeted Zechs just a few minutes ago.

"Don't give me that," Duo said, teasing out the words and offering Wufei a bright grin. "Hello, like we're strangers. You're cruel, Waffles."

Wufei's throat worked silently for a moment as he stared at Duo. "Yes, well," he said, once again gone shy and withdrawn. He glanced down at the cards in Zechs's hand. "What are you playing?"

"Poker," said Duo. He dragged over chairs for both him and Wufei. "Or spades, if Quatre...? No, okay, poker. Zechs, you deal, and don't cheat."

"Why would I cheat?" Zechs shuffled and then dealt out cards to the three of them. Quatre curled in his chair, content just to watch. He was positioned so he could see Zechs's cards easily, and if he leaned really far to the side he could see Duo's as well.

Duo raided a game of checkers for the tokens, which they used as betting chips with arbitrary amounts, such as when Duo bet two million on a pair of twos, and was thoroughly trounced by Wufei's straight-flush. Wufei, actually, turned out to be exceedingly good at poker, and after he had won several hands and grown relaxed, Duo said, "So, you're heading out tomorrow?" and Wufei went immediately back on edge.

"Yes," he said in a crisp tone. He rearranged his cards. "First thing in the morning."

"Lame," drawled Duo, with such an exaggerated whine that Wufei actually cracked a small smile. "No, just teasing; that's actually pretty cool, I guess. I mean, let's be honest here. Two," he told Zechs, putting a set of cards face-down on the table. "I'm going to miss you, 'Fei."

Wufei glowered darkly at his cards, a slow red flush creeping up from his neck. "Maxwell," he started to snap in a heated tone, but Duo, serious for once, held up a hand to forestall him.

"Come on, Wufei, don't be like that. Just shut up and take the compliment, and indulge my curiosity with some straight answers for once. I'm sick of fighting with you over this. Where did you disappear off to yesterday?" He spoke gently, but with ruthless determination.

"Three," Wufei mumbled to Zechs, sliding his cards across the table. Zechs dealt out the new cards, and Wufei shuffled them into his hand in an effort to clearly stall for time. "I met with Noin," he said at last, with a resigned sort of sigh.

"Who?" said Duo, at the same time that Zechs said, "Your caseworker?"

Wufei nodded, not looking at either of them, his eyes fixed determinedly on his cards. "I called her Tuesday and told her where to pick me up."

The three of them played out the rest of the hand, which Wufei again won. Duo, having run out of checkers, declared he was going to take out a loan, and returned with a game of chess to pillage for pieces. Zechs dealt more cards, and Duo opened the bidding with a rook, which after a little haggling Wufei agreed was worth two red checkers. Duo fanned out his cards, "So, what, plan not go according to schedule, or did you change your mind about trying to stay?"

"No. Yes." He scowled at his hand but set a stack of checkers on the table anyway, prompting Duo to toss in both bishops and a pawn. "None," he told Zechs, bringing his cards together with an angry snap. "There was never any plan. She took me to see the Shirin House. That's it. That's the end of it. I'm leaving tomorrow, okay?" Wufei threw his cards down, exposing three kings and a set of fours. "Any other questions?" he demanded, but did not wait for an answer, storming off to the library before anyone could stop him.

Zechs, who had been quiet up until then, fixed an accusing look at Duo. "You just had to push him."

"Oh, shut up," Duo grumbled. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"Understand what?" bristled Zechs.

"Wufei."

"What's that even supposed to mean? I don't think _you_ understand him, not nearly as much as you think."

Duo threw the checkers and chess pieces back into their respective boxes. "Why do you care? You barely know him. You'll probably never see him again. None of us will."

Quatre rose from his chair. He'd heard enough. And he needed to leave for therapy or risk being late, and he already knew G would have plenty of reasons to lecture him besides tardiness. Duo looked up, startled, as if he'd forgotten Quatre was even there. Holding Sandy close, Quatre avoided the sudden spotlight of attention and hurried away. He heard Duo call after him, but the words were easy to let fall aside.

Therapy went exactly as he expected, at least at first. Doctor G opened the session with wanting to talk about his "breakdown" the day before, and his apparent "delinquency" at the theater. Quatre braced and readied himself for the inevitable consequences of keeping silent, and so rather than react with anxiety or panic as he might of at any other time, G's growing displeasure only seemed very small and insignificant. Quatre simply emptied his mind and grabbed a tight hold on that vacant, distant feeling he'd achieved yesterday, when he'd gone far away without ever leaving the cafeteria.

So Quatre clutched Sandy in his lap and sat and stared at the ground and said nothing, and Doctor G lectured and threatened and analyzed. Quatre suddenly wondered what it had been like for Trowa in the same situation, not saying a word for so long, and not at all for the first time he puzzled over why Trowa had ever spoken to him, of all people. And that hurt, worse than anything, so Quatre promised himself right then and there, sitting in G's office, that he simply would not think about Trowa anymore.

When the clock struck half-past five, Quatre rose to leave, and the doctor stood as well, and in that second or two of movement he took Sandy. It was not an entirely unexpected action. Quatre had been braced for that, but no matter how far he tried to go that aching sense of loss and fear pulled him back. Quatre stood there staring at the doctor as he placed the bear on his desk and explained the consequences in a stream of words that rushed right over Quatre without being heard.

Although it was a promise not even five minutes old, Quatre broke it. He smashed it with vengeance and without regret. He touched his fingers to his lips, and willed himself to think about Trowa, to conjure every ounce of comfort and security he could from the memory. He placed those feelings firmly against the rolling waves of anxiety that threatened him with Sandy's loss. He stared at G with hard defiance, at least achieving the far away distance he needed.

The doctor kept him from leaving, questioning and prodding and turning his patient's action over and over without eliciting a response other than that flat, even stare. Quatre hugged his arms around his middle and waited to be dismissed. He felt invincible, wrapped tight in that shroud of careful distance, and G must have detected something, because he held him so late that Quatre felt certain he would be going without dinner.

G let him go at half-past six, and Quatre went to the cafeteria to get the last scraps of food. Only Duo still sat at the table, with an empty tray in front of him. Quatre sat and began to eat mechanically, but not without first seeing the keen look of concern on Duo's face. Quatre lowered his eyes to his plate and kept them there.

"Where's your bear?" Duo asked. "Did you lose Sandy?"

Quatre separated two anemic green beans from the rest of the herd. They'd run out of both rolls and custard, so he'd been left with just the sickly vegetables and a dry slab of turkey; no gravy, they'd run out of that, too. Duo was saying something else, but Quatre tuned him out. He ate quickly, dumped off his tray, and started to leave.

Duo followed him to the nurses' station where they both cleared evening med checks. Quatre turned to go to bed. It wasn't that he was tired so much as he didn't want to do anything else, least of all talk to Duo, but the boy caught him arm and refused to let go, not even when Quatre tried to pull away. "Just wait," Duo pleaded. "Just talk to me."

He twisted in the vise-like grip, to the point that Duo either had to let Quatre go or hurt him, and for a moment it seemed like Duo was going to call his bluff. His shoulder protested at the angle, but Quatre ruthlessly twisted more, until Duo snapped his hand away as if burned. "Quatre, wait" he called, but Quatre knew if he turned back he would be lost.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying it. Things are really picking up… I feel like I'm being carried away when I write.

Incidentally I finally remembered the password for my livejournal, so I'll be updating that as well. If it's been a while and I haven't updated here, you can check over there for news. I promise not to just disappear again, okay? My goal is to write at least one chapter a week, although obviously I've been exceeding that goal so far.

Look forward to the next chapter soon!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	41. Surprises

LSC / 12-6-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-One: Surprises)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 41

**Surprises**

* * *

"I need a phone token."

Wufei looked up over the edge of his book. "Did you mistake me for the nurses' station?"

"I'm serious. I only have four points, so go get me a token. Please," Duo added belatedly. When Wufei simply lowered his eyes back to the book, Duo snatched it away. "You're leaving tomorrow, right? So what good are all those points you've been stockpiling? Hell, give me two phone tokens. Give Zechs one. Phone tokens for everyone."

Dark brows swooped over dark eyes as Wufei glowered up at Duo. "I'm not going to give you a token just so you can call Yuy."

"Idiot, I don't… Okay, well, yeah, that's what I wanted the second token for, but that's beside the point. I want to call Trowa. I'm going to go get Quatre and drag him to the damned phones if I have to, and make him say something, or at least _react_ in some way, even if it's to shake his head and tell me to fuck off." Duo rubbed worriedly at his wrist, uneasily recalling the feeling of Quatre's thin arm twisting beneath his grip.

Wufei frowned. "What good is that going to do? Barton won't say anything."

"Yeah, well, I don't know. But if Trowa can't get Quatre to talk I don't know who can. Come on, Wufei, have you seen the little guy? He's starting to seriously freak me out. At least Trowa would nod or point or look at you when you talked to him. What the hell happened yesterday?" Duo sunk next to Zechs on the sofa. The tall blond shifted his legs to the floor rather than let Duo sit on them.

"Yes, I've seen him," Wufei said patiently. He held out his hand and waggled his fingers until Duo returned the book to him. Wufei folded the corner over to mark his place and set the book aside. "And I already told you what happened."

"I take it this isn't normal," Zechs commented at last. He'd been oddly quiet since dinner. Duo was getting pretty fucking sick of everyone going silent and moody on him.

"No. He's shy, that's for sure, but not like this. And, Wufei, listen to this; his bear's missing, and he doesn't even seem to care. I think G must have taken it again."

Wufei took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his shirt hem. "Fine," he said with a sigh. "I'll indulge this crack-pot plan of yours. Peacecraft, you want a token?" Wufei rose from his chair.

Zechs shrugged. "Why not."

"Thanks, Waffles!" Duo brightened into a grin and took off after Quatre to put his plan into action.

He received no response to his knocking, which he expected, and barged into Quatre's room anyway. Only the barest hint of blond hair stuck out from the ball of blankets on the middle of the bed. "Hey, Q! I got a surprise for you," Duo threw his cheeriest tone out like a whip. "You're going to like it, promise, it's better than a hundred extra desserts."

The blankets shifted, but that was the only response Duo's announcement garnered. "Seriously, you're going to like it. I'll drag you if I have to," Duo warned.

He fumbled through the blankets until he got a hold of Quatre's waist, and then he made good on his threat and hauled the small boy off the bed. Quatre flailed briefly, a hand clutching at the mattress, and he let out a small yelp of surprise before Duo had him up and held tight. It would have been comical under any other circumstance.

Quatre twisted wildly and Duo hesitated, realizing the hitch in his plan. Physically manhandling the smaller boy, yes, Duo was fully capable of dragging him kicking (and, well, not screaming, hopefully) to the phones, but no way could he do it without getting noticed. He released Quatre so abruptly that the boy spun away, lost his balance, and collapsed to the floor on top of the rumpled bedding.

"What is wrong with you!" Duo yelled, frustration overwhelming him and making him lose his temper. He knew better. He'd already fucked up once and landed Quatre in the fucking infirmary – Duo took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

Quatre's hands knotted in the blanket as he knelt there, head hung low.

"Okay, sorry, I'm cool. We're cool. Don't be mad. Or, hell, get mad, get mad at me if you want, just do something, say something. Are you mad Zechs and I pressed you so much about Wufei, and you got in trouble over it? Do you want me to go steal Sandy back for you again? I will, you know I will."

Duo stood there for a while, feeling equal parts an idiot and a bully. "Well, I wanted it to be a surprise, but I guess I can't actually drag you. Act surprised at least, okay? We're gonna call Trowa."

That did get him a reaction. Very slowly, Quatre turned his face up from the floor. Those big, teal eyes looked at Duo, actually looked at him, for the first time all day. Not just in his direction, but actually at him. "Yup," Duo said quickly, "I knew you'd be surprised. I knew you'd like it. Wufei's got the points for it, so I asked and he said yes, and we better hurry before it gets too late, okay?" He was rambling, oh was he ever rambling, but the vacant look vanished from Quatre's face as the boy returned from wherever it was inside himself he'd gone.

Quatre got to his feet and then very deliberately nodded. His eyes dropped to the floor, but it was with ordinary shyness and that strange, distant emptiness.

They found Wufei waiting by the phones with a handful of tokens. "I turned in all my points," he explained, upending the copper circles into Duo's outstretched hand. "Don't use them on all Yuy," Wufei said crossly.

Duo slipped the phone off its cradle. "Do you want to say hi to Trowa?" he asked Wufei.

"No," Wufei frowned at Quatre. He then turned an accusatory look at Duo, like, _Don't say I told you so, Maxwell_, before he left. Which Duo had totally been about to do, so it made him grin, and then he felt a very small twinge of sadness. He was going to miss Wufei – but he wasn't going to think about that just yet, not just yet.

Duo plunked the token through the slot in the phone. "Oh, wait, shit, do you—" he started to ask, but Quatre was already moving. He slipped between Duo and the phone and quickly tapped out the number, which Duo had long forgotten and Quatre apparently memorized.

After a few rings, a feminine voice answered, "Hello?"

"Yes, hi. Can I talk to Trowa? This is Duo," he added unnecessarily, as if it mattered.

"Oh, you're his friend from the hospital," Trowa's sister said. "The one who called before. That's very sweet of you. Trowa!" she called. A pause, and then her voice was soft and distant as she said, "Your friend is calling again."

And then silence. "Tro! Great, hi, how are you? Fantastic—"

Quatre eagerly reached for the phone, and Duo had the absurd vision of them both just standing there mute. He snorted back a laugh, but quickly turned the phone over to Quatre without complaint. Quatre clutched at the receiver with both hands and just stared at Duo.

"All right, all right, fine," Duo huffed. "I get the idea."

* * *

Trowa held the silent phone to his ear. Catherine smiled encouragingly, unaware that both ends of the conversation were empty, clearly happy that Trowa had a) established friends and b) interacted with them.

"I'm going to run to the store to get milk," Catherine said in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt Trowa. She grabbed her purse and keys. "I'll be right back."

Not counting yesterday at the mall, this was only the second time she had left him alone. First had been this morning, when she had walked to the corner store and back to get doughnuts. She seemed eager to prove to them both that Trowa could be trusted alone, but he rather thought that her confidence outpaced his.

"Trowa? Trowa," came Quatre's voice, so quiet and hushed. Trowa gripped the phone tight enough that the plastic squeaked in protest. His eyes tracked Catherine to the door, and then counted silently to ten before getting up and walking over to the window. He waited until her car turned out into the street before saying, "Hello," into the phone.

"Oh!" gasped Quatre.

"She's stepped out," Trowa explained. He tucked himself next to the window, so he could peer out the curtains but not be seen.

"Duo's gone," Quatre whispered. "I made him go away."

"Go away?"

"Well, so he wouldn't overhear. Otherwise he might figure out that you, um."

Trowa chuckled. "I get the idea."

"It was Duo's idea to call. I don't even know what to say."

"That's okay. You don't have to say anything."

"Well, no. That's not fair. We didn't get to talk yesterday."

"Ah," said Trowa. "I keep thinking that must have been a dream."

"Me too," whispered Quatre, and he could practically hear the blush in the boy's voice. "How have you been? What are you doing?"

"Fine. Nothing."

"Oh. That's good. Me too. Hey, Trowa?"

"Mmm?" Trowa thought he spotted a dark green sedan that resembled Catherine's. False alarm, wrong model.

"Hey," said Quatre, and then fell silent. Trowa gripped the phone again, and wished he could be there. Something about this did not feel right. Quatre seemed subdued, not like himself, and a flutter of worry unfurled itself in Trowa's chest. It curled around his heart and laid there, all tangled up in tenderness.

"So, promise me something," Quatre said at last. "Promise me…" his voice drifted off and into silence.

"Don't say it. Quatre, please, I... I know what you're going to say." Trowa twisted one hand into the curtain. He could practically feel the scars on his arms glowing red-hot with shame and fear and that same odd tenderness as before. "Please don't."

"Oh," said Quatre, very softly. "Okay. I better go, then."

"Yeah, okay."

"Bye, Trowa. T-take care."

"Yeah," whispered Trowa. He heard the soft click as Quatre hung up, and only then did he carefully go put the phone back in the charger.

Abandoning the television show he'd been watching before the phone rang, Trowa went into his room. Or, rather, the room Catherine kept for him. He had a hard time thinking of it as his, despite all the personal touches Catherine went to such lengths to achieve. She must have gone home at some point and raided his old childhood room. The crossword puzzle book she'd given him laid face-down on the nightstand, beneath a lamp with a football for a base; that was something old of his, he vaguely recognized it. Trowa sat on the bed.

After a moment, he pulled open the drawer to the nightstand. Inside lay a square photo album decorated with magazine cut-outs of rock stars and actors. Catherine must have thought he would want it, when in fact he had not touched the thing since finding it. It lay there like a coiled snake, full of venom and pain, but Trowa could not stop himself from looking at it every so often. He firmly closed the drawer.

Trowa lay back on the bed and lifted his arms up, watching the light catch and play across the scars. Quatre's voice played over and over in his head. The thing in his chest curled tighter, squeezing his heavy heart. He dropped his arms to the bed with a sigh.

He lay there until he heard Catherine come home. "Trowa!" she called. He sat up at the sound of her footsteps in the hall.

"Trowa, there you are," she said, stopping in the doorway. "May I come in?" She asked, even though the door was open.

Catherine came and sat next to him on the bed. "Were you working on your crosswords?" she asked, nodding toward the nightstand. "That's good. I'm glad you like them. So, listen, Trowa, I wanted to talk to you."

Nothing good ever followed that type of statement, and Trowa immediately thought of several awful things, first of which was, _She's sending me back_. He lowered his eyes to the carpet. _She's sending me back. _

"You're not in trouble," Catherine said swiftly. "School starts next month, you know. I've been giving it a lot of thought. I don't want you going back to St Gabriel's. I called to check on enrolling you, and since you missed the whole spring term, and you were already so far behind, you'd be repeating your sophomore year. And you'd have to live in the dorms again, or I'd have to move… But I don't think you liked it there anyway, right?" She ducked her head, trying to wedge into his line of sight, with a patient, gentle smile on her face.

He, in fact, had hated the private academy. It was better than public school, because at least the teachers at the academy made some amends for his "condition." Which was the polite way of saying he never participated in class nor did his assignments. He liked the tests though, as there was something soothing to him about filling in the little bubbles on the answer sheet, and so he did those without complaint, and accidentally proved to everyone he was not an idiot. At least it was better than public school, where they tried to teach him sign language and, when that failed, sent him to a classroom full of special needs kids.

To spare Catherine's neck, Trowa lifted his head from his study of the carpet. If she didn't want to send him back to St. Gabriel's though… _Oh_, thought Trowa. _Public school it is, then_.

Catherine's blue eyes searched his face, as if to draw out every silent emotion. "You're a smart boy, Trowa. You know that? You deserve an education, same as anyone else."

Trowa shifted on the bed, at ill ease with her sudden, serious tone.

She broke into a sudden smile. "Don't look so worried. I have an idea. Come on, get up, I have a surprise for you. I've been thinking about it since yesterday, when I saw one at the mall. Get your shoes on, and grab your wallet."

Trowa did as she asked, utterly confused. He mistrusted this suddenness; Trowa did not like surprises much, but Catherine just smiled as she grabbed her purse and urged him outside. Her apartment was on the top floor of a two-story walk-up, on the far end of the squat brick building. The outside light flickered, the bulb just about burnt out, and the late summer sun stretched low and red across the horizon. She led the way down to the parking lot.

He went automatically for the passenger door, but Catherine stepped smoothly into his path. She laughed and held up the car keys, dangling them back and forth on the plastic dolphin keychain just in front of his face. "Surprise number one! You're going to drive," she announced. "You got your wallet, right? Let me see."

He pulled out the slim, simple wallet and opened it for her. His learner's permit, acquired a year ago and never put to much use, was just about the only thing inside besides the leftover money from the book he'd purchased, the book that Quatre had been reading. He had no idea what it was about.

"Good," said Catherine with a nod. She jingled the keys again until he took them from her. She climbed in the passenger seat, and Trowa reluctantly went around to the driver's side.

"Do you need to move the seat back? It's the lever just under there. Now check your mirrors, make sure you can see out. Okay, now go ahead and put it in reverse."

Trowa did as she said. They'd had a few driving lessons last spring, not the one this year, when he'd been in the hospital, but the one before that, when Catherine drove from her sleepy college town to his dorm at St. Gabriel's to visit over a break. _You're sixteen_, she'd told him, _time to learn how to drive_. Just like that, and just like today; Catherine was, if anything, determined.

He eased the car out of the parking lot and turned left, as per Catherine's directions. He was tense at first, but relaxed the longer they drove. The sun slipped down into purple twilight, and Catherine showed him where to turn on the headlights. She directed him this way and that, and Trowa thought they were just driving in circles, until they passed a small park and he recognized where they were. She pointed him toward a big, standalone bookstore in a shopping center across the complicated intersection from the mall.

Someone cut him off in the parking lot, making Catherine shriek and Trowa slam on the brakes. She laughed it off and praised his quick reflexes, but Trowa's heart raced as he handed her back the keys.

"I should have just bought one yesterday, when we were at the mall," Catherine explained as she led him toward the back of the store. "But I wanted to call the State Board of Education to make sure it'd be okay, since you won't be eighteen until October." She sounded excited. Trowa felt excited, too, but only because of his near-wreck. He had, in fact, forgotten about the second half of the surprise.

She led him back to the reference section, and then knelt to find the book she wanted. Catherine turned and placed a big, thick book in his hands. "Here, you'll need this." She beamed at him.

It was a study guide for the GED. Trowa opened the book to a random page, which seemed to be about photosynthesis.

"They said it'd be okay if you weren't enrolled in school this year. You can just study for the test instead. Lots of colleges will take a GED instead of a high school diploma. And, Trowa," she was getting more excited now, "you can take college courses online or through correspondence. You won't have to go to class. Have you ever thought about what you might want to study?"

Trowa wanted to tell her not to bother. He wanted to tell her to re-enroll herself in classes and finish her degree. Biology, she'd been studying biology, and if not for him she would have graduated by now.

Catherine gently reclaimed the book from him. "Of course, Trowa, if you'd rather go to school and get a regular diploma, that's okay, too. If you want to go back to St Gabriel's, I can call them tomorrow. It's whatever you want."

He wanted to go home, only he wasn't sure where that was anymore. Thinking about it only conjured images of dreary hospital walls and hard hospital beds. Catherine took his lack of response for agreement, or at least acquiescence, and bought the study guide. She kept up a steady one-sided conversation about the benefits of the GED versus regular schooling the whole back to the car. He drove them home without incident, relying on Catherine for directions, and she remarked that before long he could go take the driver's exam and get his license.

When they got upstairs, Catherine kicked off her heeled sandals and tossed her purse on the coffee table. Trowa dug the study guide out of the plastic bookstore bag. He sat on the sofa and opened it up to the first page. Catherine came over to look and laughed, "Look at you, so serious! Well, I'm glad. I'm going to shower and go to bed; I work the breakfast shift tomorrow. I'll come wake you up early, so don't stay up too late, okay?"

She knelt suddenly and wrapped both arms around him, enfolding her little brother into a sudden hug. "Goodnight," she said quietly. "You know I'll always love you. I'll always be here for you, Trowa. You know that, right?"

And maybe it was the way her fingers dug into his back, or the way her voice trembled at the end, or maybe it was gratitude for her clever solutions and unwavering patience, but whatever it was that made him do it, Trowa put his arms around her in return. The last time he'd hugged her had been at her father's funeral, when he was ten and she was fourteen. She'd been crying then, and for a second Trowa feared she'd start crying now.

Catherine squeezed him tight. "Thank you," she said softly. She stood and brushed hesitantly at her face, eyes wet but cheeks dry. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"

After she left, Trowa sat there and read the same paragraph over and over without absorbing the words. Catherine was still in the shower when he gave up and took the book with him into his room. He added it to the top of the dresser, next to Quatre's book, and set his wallet on top. Another burst of decorative zeal, no doubt meant to make him feel at home, had inspired Catherine to set several framed family photos across the top of the dresser. Trowa hated it and did his best to ignore the smiling faces.

Once Catherine finished her shower, Trowa readied for bed even though he was not tired. He lay awake in his too-soft bed in the too-warm apartment listening to the too-loud city outside of the too-bright window and tried to feel he belonged.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing! I don't have much to say, so, see you soon!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	42. Goodbye and Good Luck

LSC / 12-7-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Two: Goodbye and Good Luck)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 42

**Goodbye and Good Luck**

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet affair, despite Duo's best attempts otherwise. Wufei sat tense and nervous, dressed in his best clothes, and snapped responses to Duo's insisting questions, until finally even Duo fell silent rather than risk a last minute fight. Afterward they all, even Quatre, who followed after Duo like a small, silent ghost, went to Wufei's room to fetch his things.

"Here, Maxwell," Wufei pressed the tissue-paper covered pencil holder at him. "You can have it, or throw it away. I don't want it."

"Cool," said Duo.

Wufei claimed his suitcase from the bed and left without looking back at the room which had been his home for a year. Duo did look back, there at the doorway. The placard outside the door still read Chang, Wufei, but the room inside seemed oddly empty, even though it still looked mostly the same. Wufei always kept his room neat, so only the missing pencil holder and absent notebook from the desk gave any indication he was gone. Or, going. Going to be gone.

Duo hurried to catch up with the three of them. "So, is this it?" he asked. "No final therapy with good ol' Doctor S?"

"No," said Wufei. "Noin said she would meet me here at nine." He set his suitcase down in the common area and stood there over it, trying and failing not to look anxious.

"Well," said Duo. "So this is goodbye, Waffles."

He couldn't help but grin at the sudden scowl on Wufei's face. "Don't call me that," he muttered.

A dark-haired woman in a tan jacket and slacks combo emerged from the administrative hallway, and Wufei's eyes jumped to her immediately. A flurry of sudden change rippled across his face, and Duo met Zechs's sudden fear with a look of his own, but Wufei's scowl popped back up, and even though it was directed at Duo, he felt a surge of relief. "Yes," Wufei said crisply, in control of himself again. "Yes," he repeated, a slow flush creeping across his neckline. "Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye," came a soft voice, startling everyone. Quatre stepped forward, brushing past Duo. "Goodbye, Wufei. I'm glad to have met you."

It was the first he had spoken since Wednesday, and Wufei looked just as surprised as any of them at the sudden earnestness in Quatre's words. "Yes. Take care of yourself, Winner."

"Oh, stop being so stiff!" Duo broke in. He threw his arms around Wufei. "I'm going to miss the hell out of you, Waffles!"

"Don't call me that," Wufei snapped. He pushed Duo away, but he was smiling.

"Bye," said Zechs. He was slouched with his hands in his pockets, subdued and quiet in a way that Duo mistrusted.

"Are you ready? Did you need a moment to finish your goodbyes?" Noin, the caseworker, asked as she approached.

"No," Wufei picked up his suitcase. His dark eyes swept over the three of them, and then beyond them, taking in the plexiglass partitions, shabby furniture, and grey walls.

"Bye, goodbye," the all said at once, Zechs quiet, Quatre shy, and Duo with forced exuberance.

Wufei followed after Noin, and Duo thought for a moment it would be just like leaving his room, and Wufei would not look back, but he did. He hesitated at the last minute and turned his head back; he looked straight at Duo. The distance between them was too great for Duo to be sure, but it assuredly was not a glare or scowl that Wufei directed at him.

_Sorrow_, he decided at last. _Regret_. _Fear_.

* * *

The hospital routine went along with relentless normalcy, sweeping Duo up the same as the rest. For whatever reason, be it the phone call to Trowa or Wufei leaving, Quatre shook free of his strange mood and reclaimed Sandy as a reward for good behavior. To Duo he still seemed dampened somewhat, prone to fits of disconnect where he suddenly got a very distant look in his eyes and seemed confused when Duo dragged him back. That worried Duo, but there was nothing for him to do about it.

That weekend Heero did not come, nor did he come the next weekend, and Duo used one of the tokens Wufei had given him to call, despite knowing Wufei would hate it. Heero apologized, which for Heero meant that he told Duo to shut up and that he had been busy working. Duo called him a jerk and hung up feeling marginally better.

Zechs alternated between sitting with Duo and Quatre at meals and the girls, which pleased the both of them, and Duo struck up a bet with Relena about how soon Dorothy would move in for the kill now that Wufei (and, therefore, Treize) was out of the picture.

Relena insisted on keeping the extra chair at group therapy, just as she had when Trowa left, and two weeks after Wufei's departure a new girl came to fill in the gap. A girl, which pleased Relena since it made for even numbers, but only up until Middie made the fatal mistake of wearing mismatched socks to her first session. And she turned out to be mostly psychotic, which got Duo off the hook as being the most disruptive member of group, so he was pretty damn happy with her right up until she shoved Quatre over a chair hard enough that he hurt his wrist in the fall and had to be taken to the infirmary.

It was Friday, so Duo had back-to-back session with G right after group, and he tried to loiter outside the doctor's office to catch Quatre, but G shooed him away and sent an orderly to make sure he ended up back in the commons. He found Relena, Dorothy, and Zechs bent over a jigsaw puzzle, but only Relena seemed interested in working it. Or, rather, Relena seemed interested in sorting the pieces out by color, instead of trying to fit them together.

"Duo!" called Dorothy, catching sight of him. "Come weigh in on something."

"Sure," said Duo, slumping into a chair.

"So I was just asking, did you hear what set Middie off in group?"

"Nope. Here, princess, you dropped one." Duo dipped sideways and grabbed a piece off the floor. He offered it out to Relena.

She took it, and then looked uneasily from the new piece to the remaining pieces. "This one doesn't match. It's wrong."

"Must be from a different puzzle. Why, Dorothy, did you hear what flipped the psycho switch?"

"But it was in this puzzle box," Relena protested. She picked up the puzzle and peered critically at the multicolored Easter Eggs on the cover. Duo didn't recognize it, so they must have finally splurged and bought a new puzzle for the hospital, as the old one was missing several pieces. Of course just Relena's luck the brand new puzzle came with bonus pieces jostled in during manufacture.

"No, I did," said Zechs. "Relena, can I see that piece?"

She reluctantly handed it over. Zechs calmly threw the piece as hard as he could, the little cardboard bit flying over the partitions and off into the unknown.

"Okay, so what happened?" Duo asked, over the sound of Relena's sudden outcry.

"I wasn't paying attention, until the end, when Middie started shouting. She asked Quatre to repeat what he said—"

Dorothy broke in, too excited at the dramatic gossip to keep quiet, "Can you believe it? Quatre told her 'you heard what I said' just as cool as could be! And that's when she laid into him. Rotten luck he got tangled up in the folding chair. I thought for sure there would be a fight. I never knew Quatre could be such a badass."

Duo twisted the end of his braid around his wrist. "Yeah, me either." He glanced at Zechs and found the same knowing concern; for all Zechs irritated him sometimes, the guy was quick on the uptake.

"Maybe that piece went with the castle puzzle!" Relena wrung her hands anxiously. "The castle only has 985 pieces."

"Yes, Relena, I'm sure that's it," Duo told her. "I actually called the puzzle manufacturer with the item number for the castle and told them to put the fifteen missing pieces in cheap Easter Egg puzzles at dollar stores. The ones on clearance, because it's August. Or, wait, I built a time machine and went back to March when they were making Easter Egg puzzles, and slipped the missing pieces into the manufacturing lines. It's like a scavenger hunt."

"Very funny, Duo," Relena said crossly. But she stopped dry-washing her hands and turned her attention back to the Easter Eggs, clearing a spot on the table and beginning to assemble the corner and edge pieces.

Dorothy shifted an edge piece into place under Relena's watchful eye. They talked of other gossip, like the girl in the room next to Dorothy who got caught hoarding her medicine, or which nurse was rumored to keep a flask of whiskey in her back pocket. Before long the chime came for dinner, with no sign of Quatre, so they joined the lines going into the cafeteria. Relena only reluctantly left the puzzle after Zechs and Dorothy both tried to reassure her that it would still be waiting for her. Duo said nothing; he knew better.

Dinner turned out to be yesterday's meatloaf reheated into a casserole with limp green beans on the side. "Yum," said Duo, voice dripping with sarcasm. Zechs decided to sit with him, rather than the girls, and they had both just settled in to eat when Quatre appeared at the end of the line. "Don't spit in my food," Duo said, hopping up.

"Why would I?" Zechs called after him.

Duo rejoined the line, got yelled at for cutting, and had to wait until Quatre had a tray full of food before approaching. "Here, I'll get that," he offered, noticing that Quatre was having trouble lifting the tray one-handed.

"Thanks," said Quatre. His wrist had been wrapped up and splinted.

"You okay?"

"Sure, it's just sprained," Quatre mumbled at his toes. Duo set Quatre's tray next to his own.

"Hey," said Zechs. He followed Quatre's wrist with his eyes. "Nasty tumble."

"I'm fine," Quatre insisted. He picked up his fork and separated a chunk of meatloaf from the tepid noodles and sauce.

"So what'd you say to her?" Duo asked innocently.

Quatre blushed pink and shook his head, blonde hair dancing over his forehead. "Nothing." And then, as Duo watched, the blush subsided as Quatre ate mechanically, eyes aimed at the food without seeing it. He was going away again, lost in thought.

Duo looked over at Zechs and raised one brow, _See?_

Zechs shrugged. _So?_

"Man, fuck you," Duo grumbled.

"What the hell?" Zechs protested.

"Nothing," said Duo. "Do you think they posted schedules yet?"

"For what, classes?" Zechs shrugged again. "Probably not. They don't start until next Monday, right? Since this upcoming one is Labor Day."

Duo bit into his dinner roll, which was dry and tasteless, like compacted sawdust. "I guess you're right. Next weekend's gonna be busy, there's always a ton of move-ins right before they start the school programs. You might even get a roommate, Quatre."

Quatre looked up. "Huh?"

"Exactly," said Duo. "I completely agree."

"What?"

"Banana pudding is superior to tapioca, but butterscotch is best. What do you think, Zechs?"

Zechs pushed his tray aside. "I don't like pudding."

"Oh, then, can I have yours?" Duo reached across the table.

Quatre piped up, "I like chocolate pudding," and Duo waxed enthusiastically over the joys of butterscotch. Quatre smiled, his mood passing, and Duo continued into a detailed explanation of why tapioca was inferior even to vanilla pudding.

After dinner and evening meds, Relena returned to her puzzle which, surprisingly, was unmolested as promised, and Duo started to go supervise (and maybe pocket one or two pieces, just to tease her), but a sudden hand on his arm stopped him. "Duo?" said Quatre softly. He released Duo at soon as the boy turned. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," said Duo automatically. "What's up?"

"Not here." Quatre's eyes flashed around warily. "My room," he said with a jerk of his head.

Duo followed him down the hall, curious and more than a little bit concerned. Quatre led him into the room and then closed the door behind them. He leaned against it and looked at Duo for a long time, Sandy held tight to his chest with his uninjured arm.

"So?" prompted Duo, after Quatre just stood there looking at him.

"Duo, we're friends, right?"

"What? Yeah, of course. Hell yeah we are, Q, you know we are."

"So if I was to ask you for a favor?"

"Sure," he said quickly. "Anything. I mean, within reason. Come on, Quatre, you're freaking me out here. What's up?"

Quatre scuffed his toe against the floor in a clear stalling tactic. He huffed out a sigh, shifted Sandy from one side to the other, and then finally let out a small, nervous laugh. Rather than say anything, though, Quatre pulled something small out of his pocket and stuck his fist out, holding it out into the empty air.

Duo put a receptive palm underneath that fist. "What?" he asked. Quatre opened his hand and a small key dropped into Duo's grip. "What?" he repeated, in a much different sort of tone. He pulled the key close to his face to look at it.

"That's the key to Doctor Richard's office."

"How did you get this? Why do you have it?" Duo closed his hand over the key. "What are you…?"

"When he took me to the infirmary, after group. He's leaving for the holiday weekend; we were his last session of the day. He asked the infirmary nurse to lock up for him." Quatre burst into a sudden, eager smile. "I never thought it would just fall into place like this, but it's perfect!"

"Wait," Duo's head spun. "Did you get Middie to hit you on purpose?"

"Yeah," Quatre admitted. "I was going to try and get a key from the infirmary instead, but this is even better. There's not even a lock or a screen on the window in Richards's office. I just need to get into the hallway unnoticed after lights out. That's the favor I need from you. I've never been out of bed after lights out, but I know you could do it. I just need you to show me how."

It was more words than he'd heard Quatre string together in weeks, possibly even during the whole time they had known each other. The boy's eyes shone with excitement, not a single distant glimmer to be found within those aquamarine hues. Duo sputtered, "But, what, you," and then shook his head to clear it. "You're, what, you're running away?"

"Yes," said Quatre. "It needs to be either tonight or tomorrow night. I don't think I'll get another chance this perfect."

Duo stared at him, feeling much like Relena sorting out the jigsaw pieces. "You've been planning this?"

Quatre nodded. "For a while," he said, suddenly wary. "You'll help, won't you?"

Before Duo could answer, someone knocked on the door. They actually waited for a response, which was a sure indication it was not a nurse or orderly come to check on the closed door, but Quatre startled guiltily nonetheless. "Come in," called Duo, over Quatre's silent and frantic protests.

Zechs popped his head in. "There you are," he said, coming into the room.

"Yes, did you need something?" Duo said, impatient on Quatre's behalf.

"Nope," said Zechs, looking between the two of them. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes, now go away."

"Fine. Do you still have any of those tokens from Wufei?"

"No, I traded them for some magic beans," Duo snapped. "Yes, fine, I do have one. It's late though, and you can't call after eight. I'll give it to you tomorrow. Now, go away."

Zechs frowned, poised on the edge of protesting. After a moment he just shrugged and left, closing the door after him. Quatre checked the hall before withdrawing back into the room and turning anxious eyes on Duo.

_Well. Why the hell not?_

Duo broke into a grin. "Sure thing, kiddo. Tomorrow night, I'll help you. I'll come to your room after lights out, like around midnight, so don't fall asleep. Wear the most normal clothes you have and pack some extras in your pillowcase. But I do have one condition."

"Okay," said Quatre. "What's that?"

"I'm coming with you."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Am I updating too quickly? Is that even possible, after such a long delay?

Exciting things are around the corner. I can't wait.

Thanks for reading! I noticed I ended up with some new readers this week. Awesome!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	43. Zechs

LSC / 12-9-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Three: Zechs)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 43

**Zechs**

* * *

They were seated on the same side of the table when he approached, heads close together and whispering. Duo looked up, made a frantic hushed gesture to Quatre, and they both grew silent and still. Zechs glanced at the girls' table, and then an empty table, before thumping his tray down across from the two of them. Some of his cereal slopped out of the bowl.

"Morning," cheered Duo. "You oversleep again?"

Zechs shrugged. He had, in fact, been rudely dragged out of bed by an orderly. He looked from his cold cereal to the rapidly vanishing waffles on Duo's plate. "Saturdays are for sleeping," he said around a yawn.

"Your buttons are crooked," Duo pointed with his fork, and a long drop of syrup fell slowly on to the table.

He glanced down and fixed his shirt. An empty plate sat in front of Quatre, the small blonde clearly having lingered only to whisper with Duo. The two of them were worse than the girls sometimes; at least the girls would include him in the gossip, if he asked, although often they blushed and laughed and Zechs knew for sure they'd been talking about him.

"I'd kill for some coffee," Zechs remarked. "I bet the nurses get to have coffee; do you think they'd give me some if I asked nicely?"

"Sure, why not?" Duo said, in such a tone that indicated he clearly had not been listening. He and Quatre were exchanging pointed looks. As if Zechs wouldn't notice. "Hey, Quatre, did you find any of my pastels in your sock drawer?"

"What?"

"My pastels. I can't find the red one. I thought I may have left it in your room." Duo put an emphasis on the last two words.

"Um?" Quatre, clearly, was not nearly as fast on the uptake.

"In your room," Duo repeated. "Forget it, just come help me look. See ya, Zechs," Duo said as he stood.

"Oh, okay, sure!" Quatre bounced out his seat.

Zechs's stare followed the two friends out of the cafeteria. _Well, that's interesting_. He ate quickly, drinking the last of the milk straight from the bowl, and turned in his empty tray. The nurse that did his medicine check failed to respond to his brightest, most charming smile, but he asked anyway. "Coffee rots your teeth," she told him. He bit out a sharp smile anyway and thanked her. Her own teeth were stained yellow, probably from smoking judging by the delightful lingering aroma; Zechs debated asking for a cigarette instead, but figured it a lost cause for sure.

Before very long, Duo and Quatre, the two little conspirators, turned back up. Zechs caught up with them at the nurses' station, where Quatre was gesturing to Nurse Smoky with his splinted arm. "... maybe rewrapped," he was telling her. Duo stood just behind and to the side, nodding along as if anyone cared about his medical advice. "It hurts," added Quatre, a genuine look of anxious concern on his face.

"Fine," said Smoky. "I'll have someone take you to the infirmary. What, do you need something?" she barked, catching sight of Duo and Zechs.

Duo flashed Quatre a covert thumbs up before shuffling away, out of firing range of the nurse. Who probably needed another cigarette, or always ran full-throttled on delightful. Zechs stuck his hands into his pockets. "Hey," he said to Duo, catching his attention.

"What? Oh, you," said Duo.

"Yeah, thanks," muttered Zechs. Duo facilitated wildly between liking and disliking him, so far as Zechs could tell, but he didn't take it too personally; Duo tended to fling himself wholeheartedly into any particular emotion at the drop of a hat. And they'd gotten off to a rough start, what with that whole embarrassing fiasco with Treize. _How the hell was I supposed to… _ Zechs forced himself to smile, and not his fake, charming pretty-boy smile that he gave the nurses either. "Hey, can I get that token from you?"

"What?" Duo looked up at him, face blank for a few seconds. "What? Yeah, oh, yeah, sure. I'll go get it."

"Great, thanks." Zechs followed after him, but they both slowed by the nurses' station, to check on Quatre, who looked decidedly nervous as an orderly appeared to take him to the infirmary. Duo gave the boy another enthusiastic thumbs up, which Quatre caught and returned a tight, wan smile. Zechs pretended not to notice, not until he had a better idea of what the hell they were scheming.

Duo's room was a marvelous mess, and he'd shoved the two beds together to create one large bed in far corner. Duo saw him looking and chuckled. "Yeah, they keep yelling at me to stop moving the furniture, but I'm not giving up the luxury of mega-bed. You should try it."

"Whatever." Zechs toed a sketchbook lying on the floor, flipping it over to reveal several blank pages. "You draw?"

"Sometimes, I guess. Or write, or whatever. I like to channel my crazy into something creative." Duo jerked open the top drawer of his dresser and shoved aside a tumble of art supplies, hair ties, and clothes. "I haven't felt like doing anything much lately. They've been testing to make sure I've been taking the happy pills, and that tends to fuck with my - oh, my God, I was looking for this!" Duo pulled out a black shirt, which looked just the same as the one he was wearing. He tossed it on the bed. "What was I saying? Whatever. Oh, here they are," he said, holding up one of the copper phone tokens in triumph.

"Thanks," Zechs said as he took it from him. They started back to the common area together. "You expecting any visitors today? Who's that one guy, Yuy or whatever, that you're into?"

Duo glanced over at him, startled. "Heero, yeah. What, did Wufei mention him? He's the formality stickler, using everyone's last names like that."

"Sure, it came up," Zechs shrugged. "And Wufei told you not to use all the tokens calling him."

"Huh, you don't miss much, do you?" Duo said warily.

"Guess not. Thanks for the token," Zechs said. He gave Duo a sort of half-wave of dismissal, thinking he'd go immediately to the bank of phones, but stopped up short when he spotted a tall woman with a tumbled knot of platinum hair speaking with one of the nurses. The nurse turned, found Zechs with her eyes, and pointed.

"Hi, Mom," he said, once she came near. He returned the hug and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, sweetie." She held up a white department store bag. "I brought you some clothes. Just some stuff I found on sale in your size."

He took it from her. "Ah, geez, Mom. I asked you to bring _my_ clothes, from home. Stop wasting your money on this shit."

"Milliard, watch your mouth! I'll take soap to it, so help me, I will."

"Mom," he sighed. He didn't want to fight with her, not again, so he just shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, Mom. Thanks," he said, gesturing with the shopping bag. "You want to talk in my room? I gotta put these away."

"Sure, honey," she smiled at him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," he mumbled. He led her down the hall and into his room. Her ice-blue eyes critically swept the room as he pulled open a dresser drawer and started setting the folded clothes into place. Two more button-down dress shirts, as if he didn't have enough.

"You're keeping it clean. I like that." She sat on the bed and crossed her legs at the ankle. "Come here, sit and talk with me," she said, patting the blanket.

He sat and watched her warily. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Why's something have to be wrong?"

"Mom. Come on. You're using your 'I have bad news' voice."

Charlotte Peacecraft laughed, and it dropped the extra years of stress from her pretty face and made her look her true age, which was quite younger than most people would assume. Zechs smiled, not the charming smile or the tiger's smile, but the true one he only ever gave his mom. She was the only one who ever deserved it.

"Oh, Milli, you're just like your father sometimes."

Zechs felt his face burn slowly with heat, and he had to grit his teeth against a sudden surge of anger. _I'm _nothing_ like him_. But he didn't want to fight with her, not again, so he kept quiet.

She reached out and pulled a strand of his long hair, rubbing the fine threads between her forefinger and thumb before letting them drop. "I spoke with your grandmother the other day."

"You what?" Zechs gaped at her.

Charlotte shrugged. "Don't look at me like that, sweetie. I do still call her from time to time; she just isn't a signature on a check every month. She loves you, you know."

Zechs's molars were starting to hurt from the clenched effort not to yell. He took a deep breath, released it, and then spoke with only some minor difficulty. "She has an odd fucking way of showing it."

He had never met either of his mom's parents, as they'd disowned her before he was born, precisely because he was born and she wanted to keep him. Which Zechs appreciated, for obvious reasons, and hated his unknown grandparents for all the heartbreak they put her through, dangling love and affection over her head, and then just fucking ignoring her no matter how prettily she jumped through the hoops.

"Language, Milliard! This is exactly what I told Mother. You're just such a smart boy, I don't know how you've gotten into such trouble over the years. I asked your grandmother to help. You're too much for me to handle sometimes." Her eyes grew soft and wet.

"Jesus, Mom, don't cry," Zechs said, his anger dissolving. "Mom, I'm sorry."

"Don't take the Lord's name like that," she corrected, absently and from habit. Charlotte wiped her eyes dry and looked at him carefully. "Milliard, your grandmother is willing to help," she said, in the bad news voice. She'd used it when Spots died, when she'd lost her job and they had to move, when they stopped making his favorite brand of cereal, and even when she told him he'd be going to a psychiatric hospital for a while. All matters of heartbreak, great and small, Charlotte discussed with the same, soft voice.

"Help with what?" Zechs asked.

"Tuition, at your new school. And the admissions process, Milliard, they're very exclusive. She'll be able to get your name to the top of the list so you can start right away. You'll love it," Charlotte said, and Zechs knew immediately she was lying.

"Where?" he asked. "What school?"

She smiled, meaning it to be reassuring, but it was just another fake smile. He knew her fake smiles just as well as he knew his own; the smile she gave the social worker or the school principal, the one that said she was a responsible single parent, the smile she gave men at the bars, when Zechs had been small enough that she could bring him in with her and not just leave him at home – but this was her everything is going to be okay smile, the one that matched her bad news voice.

"Mattahausen Military Academy."

"Boot camp? Jesus Christ, Mom, you're sending me to_ boot camp_?" Zechs jumped off the bed.

"What do you expect me to do?" she snapped. "You stay out all night, you get into fights, you shoplift, you've got that G-D pack of no good hoodlums and delinquents for friends. If I take you home with me you're just going to end up in jail or dead or, Christ!" She opened and closed the snap on her little clutch purse. "I need a smoke!"

_Or maybe a drink_? Zechs viciously formed the words, and nearly threw them at her like shrapnel, but refrained. He didn't want to fight with her, not again.

"Sit down, Milli, we aren't done talking."

Her eyes were hard and cold like ice, and Zechs wondered if the tears had been as fake as the smile. He sunk slowly on to the bed.

"You'll love your new school." She repeated the lie, as if hearing it the second time would make the words true. "You'll learn some discipline there. Lord knows I've tried." She sighed, reaching out again to take his hair and stroking it through her fingers. "You'll see, it'll be for the best."

Zechs went still under her touch, the ice from her eyes draining into her slim fingers, across the gold threads of his hair, and into his blood. A vision of a platinum crew cut flashed before him suddenly, and Zechs shuddered. "Mom," he said. "Mom, come on. I'm sorry."

"Sweetie, you always say that." Charlotte smiled as if he were the grocery clerk, or the bank teller. She released his hair, but the cold feeling lingered in him. "It's already been decided, so you might as have a positive attitude about it. Do they let you attend Mass here?"

"No, Mom, I already told you."

"Confession's good for you," she said. She patted his knee. "I suppose therapy must be a little something like it. We'll go next Sunday, when I take you to the Academy. Cheer up, Milli. I promised you wouldn't have to stay here long. Let me see you," she said.

Zechs obediently lifted his hands into hers. She turned his hands over and carefully pulled apart the snaps on one of the leather wristbands. Even though there was no reason to anymore, he'd kept the frayed gauze in place. He thought for a moment she'd take that off as well, but she just snapped the band back together. "You know it's a terrible sin," Charlotte said quietly. "You'll go to hell for something like this."

"I know, Mom."

"Give me a smile," she said.

And he did, the charming smile, not his real one, but she couldn't tell the difference. Charlotte stood and pulled him up off the bed. She was a tall woman, and her son taller still, but she seemed to loom over him in that moment. "That's my good boy," she said at last. "You're so handsome when you smile."

Zechs walked her back to the common area. He gave her another hug, as she expected, without much thought. The cold was settling out into numbness, like when he was six and laid outside in the snow too long without a coat, trying to make snow angels, and caught pneumonia.

She straightened his collar and smoothed the fabric over his shoulders. "Bye, sweetie. Be good."

"Okay, Mom."

Zechs watched her leave, and then just stood there trying to talk himself out of a fight. He hated the damned quiet room, padded and empty and humiliating, and as much as he wanted to provoke the biggest, meanest bully he could find, to either get knocked around by or pummel – Charlotte's voice, telling him to have a positive attitude. That was always her advice. _It's already been decided, Milli_, she'd say in that bad news voice._ Crying won't change things. _

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and found a hard, round lump. He drew out the phone token, and having forgotten all about it, just stared down at his palm for a moment. Slowly Zechs curled his fingers over the little copper circle. The metal was heated from lying against his thigh for so long, and Zechs imagined that warmth spreading into the cold. Fire over ice, sunlight across snow, until the numb feeling drained away.

* * *

At lunch he sat by himself, not wanting to deal with Dorothy and Relena's curiosity nor Duo and Quatre's conspiring, and spun the token across the table like a top in between bites. The girls kept looking at him, whispering and giggling in that way that let him know he was the target of their gossip. For all they were cousins, Relena claimed to know more about him than he knew about her, and that irked him. He didn't want to know what his mom's family said about her, behind her back, and even less he wanted to know what they said about _him_.

Soon as he finished eating, Zechs found his way over to the bank of telephones. He set a hip against the wall and dug the small, stiff square of card stock from his back pocket. He ran a thumb over the embossed words; _Lucrezia Noin, Child Protective Services_. Zechs flicked the edge of the card back and forth over the receiver for a moment, and then flipped it over to the back. Seven numbers, in Treize's messy writing, so that the nine looked more like a four.

_"I thought you weren't talking to me."_

_"Yeah, I was." Zechs could be charming when he wanted, he'd just demonstrated that getting back Quatre's damn teddy bear, an action he'd undertaken largely to prove Duo wrong. And now he used that charm with guilt, because he knew it was unfair to Wufei. But I'll make it up to him. _

_Treize leaned against the door frame and smiled up at him. "So now you are?"_

_"So now I am. I heard you're leaving tomorrow." _

_"Ah," breathed Treize. "What's this? Getting sentimental on me, Milli?"_

Zechs shoved the token into the telephone and smashed in the sequence of numbers before his nerve could leave him. It rang once, twice, and on the third ring Zechs nearly hung up, but a man's voice said, "Hello? Hello?"

"Yes, hello." It was harder to use his charming smile over the phone, but damned if Zechs didn't give it a try. "I was hoping to speak to Wufei Chang."

"What? What? Marcy! Marcy, for the love of, what do you think you're doing?" The man suddenly shouted, the words muted but distinct. "Sorry, what was that?" he said into the phone.

"I was hoping to speak to Wufei Chang? Please."

"What?" the man said. "Wufei? He's, uh, not here right now."

And something in the way he said it told Zechs everything. "Meiran, then? Or Treize? That's fine, too."

"Who'd you say you were?"

"I'm a friend of his. My name is Zechs."

"Hang on."

He heard thumping, rapid footsteps on a staircase and childish shouting in the background. After what seemed a very long time, a familiar voice said, "Hello?"

Not enough for him to tell. Much harder, with just a single word, to tell, not that he was all that great with it in person, either. He'd proven that already. "Hey," he said, hoping to draw out more information.

"What do you want?"

Zechs smiled. "Hi, Meiran."

"How did you get this number? What do want? Wufei isn't here right now."

"How do you know I wasn't calling to talk to you?"

"Very funny."

"But how are you?" Zechs twisted the phone cord around his finger. "I mean, how is it there?"

"Why do you care?"

That took Zechs by surprise. He said nothing, for a long enough pause that Meiran said, "Hello, hello?" and Zechs had to say back, "Yeah, I'm here."

Meiran sighed, her breath puffing out in a static-filled whistle through the phone. "The food's better here; Treize is a big fan of that. We had pizza last night, actual pizza and not, what was it, how did he say it…"

"Cardboard glazed with rubber dairy substance?"

Meiran laughed. "Yes, that's it. Exactly."

"Well, how is it otherwise?"

"Fine," said Meiran, so airlessly evasive that Zechs immediately became suspicious. "Is that all you wanted? You're not going to call again, are you?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"No one wants to talk to you. Goodbye," and she hung up on him. Just like that.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Whew, I struggled with this chapter. But I like how it turned out! Hopefully you like it as well.

Thank you very much for reading and posting such encouraging reviews.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	44. Into the Night

LSC / 12-11-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Four: Into the Night)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 44

**Into the Night**

* * *

"I want in."

Quatre looked up from his intensive study of Sandy's ear to find Zechs standing over him. "Huh?" he said, quite inarticulate.

Zechs collapsed into the chair next to him. "Duo told me all about it. I want in."

"You do? He did?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," said Quatre. He brought Sandy's ear up to his mouth and closed his teeth over the fur. "Are you sure? I mean." He paused, quickly looked around, and then lowered his voice to a whisper, "You'll get in trouble, if we're caught."

Zechs shrugged.

"Well, you're in a different hallway than us. That might be hard to arrange. Do you think you can meet us in front of Doctor Richards's office instead? A little after midnight."

A slow grin spread across Zechs's face. "No problem. What should I pack?"

"Duo told me just a pillowcase of clothes. Why, what did he tell you?" Quatre tucked his splinted wrist up under Sandy's chin and tucked the bear close.

Zechs shrugged again, eyes suddenly tracking a motion over Quatre's shoulder. He rose up in his chair and turned around to see Duo on his way back from the bathroom. Quatre waved him over, unnecessarily, since they'd been sitting in the same spot since dinner. Which, now that he thought about it, was strange, because Zechs hadn't sat with them at dinner, or lunch, and Quatre had been with Duo all day, except for when he'd gone to the infirmary…

"Hey," said Duo. His eyes danced between Zechs and Quatre. He sat on the sofa and Quatre slid into him for a second, trapped by the sagging cushions. Duo threw an arm around him. "What did you want?" he asked Zechs.

"Oh, no," said Quatre. "You tricked me!"

Zechs laughed and leaned back in his chair. "You weren't exactly being subtle."

"Wait, what?" Duo looked between them. "What did I miss?"

Quatre winced, and Zechs chuckled again. "I figured it had to be something like that. So, you," he said, pointing to Duo. "You, I get. But you?" he nodded to Quatre. "How's he roped you into this?"

Quatre flushed. "It was my idea."

"No, seriously," said Duo. "What did I miss?"

"Your idea?" Zechs tilted his head to one side.

"What the hell? What did I miss? I'm going to start screaming unless one of you explains."

"I'm joining your little liberation movement," Zechs said. "The way you've been acting I figured it had to be something big. I didn't expect you two to run away, though. That's bold. Works out well for me, though."

"No way." Duo squeezed Quatre tight against him and threw a glare out at Zechs. "No way, you can't come. It's just the two of us. You're… you're… you're too tall."

"What? Shut up," Zechs scoffed. "You heard Quatre, it's his idea."

"No, that's…" Quatre stared to object, but Duo talked right over him.

"He said you tricked him, which I have no doubt to be true. It's risky enough without you bumbling along. If you want to leave, fine, but don't fuck up our plan."

"What's to stop me from going right now to tell one of the nurses your plan?"

"You wouldn't fucking dare!" Duo hissed. He leaned forward, and Quatre floundered out of the crease between the cushions.

"Stop fighting," Quatre said. "Both of you, just stop it. I have the key, it's my idea, and I don't care if Zechs comes. But no one else! If we get caught, it'll ruin everything."

Duo stared at him, clearly surprised, to the point that Quatre shyly lowered his eyes and felt a warm blush settle into his face. "All right," Duo said quietly. "You're the boss."

"Yeah," echoed Zechs. "Thanks, I guess. So what is the plan?"

Quatre fiddled with the straps on his wrist brace as Duo filled Zechs in on the key, the window, and everything else they'd put together that day, including his "reconnaissance" earlier to the infirmary, deep in the heart of the restricted ward. A nurse walked a little too close at one point, causing Duo to quickly launch into a tangent about sock puppets, but as soon as she stepped out of range he refocused on their plan.

Zechs nodded. "Okay, then what?"

"It's like this," Duo said. He flipped the hair tie off the end of his braid and set it between them on a sad, lumpy ottoman. "Here's the hospital." He pointed to the hair tie. "Here's the road, along this crease here, and this is everything else, somewhere by Quatre's foot. So wear your walking shoes and pack light."

"That's it? That's the rest of your plan? You're just going to start walking? Where are you going to go?"

Duo reclaimed the hair tie and snapped it back into place before his braid could finish unraveling. "What's with the twenty questions?"

"I thought you'd have this all planned out."

"We do," Duo said. "You're on your own."

Quatre nudged him with a knee. "Stop it. I do have a plan," he told Zechs. "Duo says there's a bus stop not too far away, but they won't be running at night, so that's out. We could call a cab, but that would be kind of obvious if anyone started looking for us. Walking is the best option."

"Well, I'm glad you've at least put some thought into this," Zechs said.

Quatre flushed again and nearly spoke up again, wanting to defend himself, because he wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment or insult. He lifted his splinted wrist to his face and used the stiff fingers to brush aside a stray lock of hair. Provoking Middie had been a little reckless, now that he thought about it, but everything had worked out so well that his sprained wrist barely even hurt in comparison.

"Damn right," said Duo. "Kiddo's been planning this for weeks, so don't fuck it up getting caught. If you're not outside Dickie's office when we show up with the key, we're not waiting. We're locking the door after us; no point in making it easy for them, so it's a one-shot opportunity so far as you're concerned."

"Fine," said Zechs. "I'll be there."

* * *

Quatre had already set aside the clothes he planned to wear and the ones he planned to pack. He stuffed the roll of clothes into his pillowcase along with a handful of toiletries, and then hid the entire bundle within the bedding. Carefully Quatre pulled open his nightstand drawer and dug the small envelope out of the back. He flipped it over, checking the tape across the flap was still secure, and then folded it into the back pocket of his jeans. He'd debated for a long time whether to take Sandy's shoebox along, but the box wasn't special, and he was worried about the bulky shape of the box inside the pillowcase.

Quatre looked around his room one last time before lights out, making sure he had everything. He tucked his shoes underneath the bed, where he could find them easily in the dark, and then got between the sheets to wait. The lights went out, the nurses came around for bed checks, for which Quatre pretended to be asleep and crossed his fingers under his pillow that she wouldn't notice the case was missing.

He'd been worried about falling asleep, but as it ended up he was much too anxious and excited for that to even be a possibility. It felt like Christmas Eve when he was very young, except for the tumbled knot of fear buried somewhere below his heart. _Calm down_, he tried to tell himself. _Absolute worst case scenario, you get caught_. _You'll be no worse off than you are now._

Just a little before midnight, Quatre slipped out of bed and into his shoes. He grabbed his pillowcase bundle and, very reluctantly, added Sandy. With his sprained wrist, he'd have a hard time carrying the pillowcase, and Sandy, and still have a free hand to maneuver. _Be calm. Stay focused_.

Quatre gripped the pillowcase in his good hand and went to stand by the door. He fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and wished very much that he could bite on Sandy's ear. He became scared that Duo had already been caught, so early into things, but before he could really work himself up, a soft scratching sound made him sigh in relief.

He eased the door open. The hallway seemed terrifyingly bright, even though the lights were dimmed, with only every third fluorescent fixture illuminated. Duo grinned at him. He'd worn all black, as usual, and had his braid tucked up underneath a black baseball cap.

Duo lifted a finger to his lips. "You ready?" he whispered, just the barest of sounds.

Quatre nodded.

"Not too late to change your mind."

Quatre shook his head and clutched his pillowcase closer, fingers seeking and finding the round, stiff nub of Sandy's nose through the fabric.

Duo gestured him out into the hall. It felt similar to the time they'd snuck through the restricted ward together, to visit Wufei after he'd fought with Zechs in therapy, only this time Quatre could barely breathe he was so scared. He stuck close to Duo's side, trusting that the other boy knew what he was doing.

At the end of their hallway, Duo tucked them both up against the wall. He scanned the common area for a long time, eyes moving over every shadow and shape. Duo gestured that Quatre should stay put and watch, and then he crouched low and went underneath the window of the nurses' station. Once safely on the other side and ducked behind a sofa, he motioned frantically for Quatre to follow. He did so, mimicking Duo's actions as precisely as he could.

Duo tugged him close, a hand firmly latching over his wrist, and then released Quatre quickly when he realized it was the sprained wrist he'd grabbed. Quatre shook his head to show it was okay, which was true, it hadn't hurt. Duo shrugged with a grin and motioned him forward.

Quatre thought they were doomed when he heard footsteps, coming from the opposite end of the room. He froze, but Duo reacted quickly and shoved him roughly to the floor behind an armchair. Quatre fell and made the mistake of catching himself with both arms, and nearly choked on the effort to silence a sudden cry. Duo rolled sideways, tucking himself into the shadow of a table. Quatre huddled in his own hiding place, clutching his wrist to his chest and fighting back tears.

The slow, deliberate footsteps grew closer and closer. Quatre dared to peak around the edge of chair and saw an orderly. He vaguely recognized him, but it wasn't until the man tapped out a cigarette from a pack in his hand that Quatre connected the dots. The orderly in the red scrubs, from the movie trip, and the man continued walking toward the nurses' station, away from them.

Duo crawled up next to him, face paler than usual and tight with concern. He leaned close, breath tickling Quatre's ear as he whispered, "Are you okay?"

Quatre nodded. Duo found his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. They made it out of the common area and into the hallway with all the therapy rooms without further incident, and Quatre let out a tense sigh of relief.

In the near total darkness, Duo moved easily, and Quatre had to stay close in his wake not to get lost or wander in the wrong direction. He reached out and caught the edge of Duo's sleeve, to reassure himself, and saw the faint outline of Duo's face turn back to give him a smile.

"Hey," came a sudden, quiet voice, and Quatre had to bite back a scream. A shadow detached itself from all the other shadows and came very close.

"Shh," Duo hissed. Zechs (because it had to be Zechs, Quatre assured his madly racing heart) said nothing, but the soft rustle of fabric suggested that he might have given his usual shrug. Duo reached back and gently pulled Quatre forward, careful to hold his elbow and not his wrist this time. Duo took Quatre's pillowcase and then found his good hand in the dark and set it on the doorknob in front of them.

Quatre nodded, even though they probably couldn't see him, and found the office key in the front pocket of his jeans. After some fumbling he found the knob again, got the key turned around the right way, and then held his breath. If this failed, for whatever reason… but the key worked, and the door swung open.

"Ha," breathed Duo in triumph. The three of them hurried inside, and Quatre closed the door behind them. Faint moonlight shone in from the window, so he could actually see his own hands as he locked the door back.

"What should I do with the key?" he asked Duo.

"Take it with you," Duo said. He moved to the window, still holding both their bundled pillowcases. Zechs, curiously, had brought nothing with him but the clothes he was wearing, which were just simple khaki slacks and a long-sleeved button-up shirt. He had his long hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

Quatre tested that the door was well and truly locked before joining them by the window. At first they all just stared at the latch, until Duo finally reached out and opened it. Warm night air flowed into the room, bringing with it the smell of dew and cut grass.

"Quatre, you first. I'll give you a hand," Duo said. He gripped Quatre's good hand tight and helped him get awkwardly over the sill and down into the grass. A blank expanse of manicured lawn stretched out under the night sky, but in the distance Quatre could see the tall buildings and lights of the city. He stepped aside to make room for Zechs, and then Duo came last.

Duo reached in and tugged the drapes into place before closing the window. He handed Quatre back his pillowcase and then seemed to notice Zechs's lack of luggage for the first time. "What, no change of clothes?" he asked.

"Nope," said Zechs.

"Carry Quatre's, then."

"No, that's okay," Quatre said quickly. He felt again for Sandy through the fabric. He felt Duo's sharp eyes on him, and saw a brief look of understanding pass over the other boy's face.

"Fine," said Duo. "Let's go."

He led them in seemingly the wrong direction, around the side of the building away from the front entrance. It made sense, though, and Quatre trusted that Duo knew what he was doing. He felt exposed, once they started walking across the lawn, but soon enough the grass gave way to wild overgrowth and they were left facing a chain link fence.

"It'd be easier out the front; the fence only runs along the sides and back. But any orderly or nurse on night duty taking a smoke break is bound to see us, and, besides, any driver who sees three kids walking on the side of the road directly out front of a youth funny farm… Yeah," Duo said, looking up at the fence.

"I'll go first," Zechs offered. "You can toss me your bundles."

The fence was not very tall at all, maybe only eight feet, and Zechs cleared it easily. He dropped down into the bushes on the other side, and then Duo tossed over his pillowcase. Quatre hesitated before reluctantly handing his over to Duo to throw; he didn't trust himself to do it. Zechs caught both bundles without spilling their contents.

"You first," Duo said. "Think you can manage?"

"Sure," said Quatre.

He dug the toe of his sneaker into the wire square of the fence links and hoisted himself up. It was more awkward than getting through the window, and for the first time Quatre regretted his rash decision to pick a fight with Middie. He'd borrowed a few colorful phrases from Duo and Zechs, parroting them to her in therapy when he'd been pretty sure no one was listening, and gotten a bit more than he bargained for. He thought he'd have to fake an injury, like grab his ankle in an overly dramatic way, and been genuinely surprised and scared he'd broken his wrist after getting tumbled over the folding chairs.

It wasn't until he was at the very top of the fence, perched awkwardly in the middle of switching from a climb to a descent, that Quatre's nerve left him. He was, in fact, absolutely terrified of heights, and had incorrectly assumed that eight feet wouldn't seem all that high. He'd been fine, until he put a leg over the fence, suddenly wobbled off-balance, and a spasm of terror exploded within his chest.

Quatre flattened himself to the fence as much as he could, the metal rattling as he sought and found a secure position. He squeezed his eyes shut, because otherwise the ground swirled and spun so dizzily he thought for sure he was going to fall just looking at it.

"Quatre? You okay?" Duo's voice floated up to him, very faint and distant over the sound of his own rushing heartbeat.

"I-I can't," Quatre called down in a tremulous voice.

"Quatre? What's wrong, is it your wrist?"

Quatre shook his head.

"You scared of heights, buddy? That's okay. I didn't know that, so, I'm sorry. My bad," Duo said. "If it makes you feel better, think about how poor Zechs must feel, being up so high as he is all the time. Look, he's nearly as tall as the fence. I bet he could reach up and pluck you right off of there if he wanted."

"N-no! Don't!"

"Okay, don't worry, he's not going to. But, look, he could. He's tall enough. Just get your other leg over the fence, okay? And if you fall, Zechs can catch you. He's right there. Look, see? He's right underneath you. And he's got Sandy, so, double cushion for when he catches you, if you fall. But you're not going to fall, okay? Just get your other leg over."

Very slowly, Quatre stopped shaking and found the courage to open his eyes. He saw Zechs and Duo underneath him on either side of the fence, watching.

"Okay," he said at last. "Okay." Quatre gripped the fence with his good hand and carefully shifted his other leg over. The warm night air felt suddenly cool on his sweat-slicked skin, but Quatre focused only on each little movement necessary to get over the fence.

"You're great, almost there," Duo said. "You're like seventy-five percent done."

Zechs's hands were suddenly on his waist. "I got you," the tall boy said.

Quatre half fell and half was lifted off the fence, but the end result was that he had both feet on the firm ground and Sandy's soft fur rubbed up against his cheek. The fence clattered briefly as Duo climbed over to join them. He jumped, miscalculated, and let out a short laugh as he stumbled.

"Okay!" said Duo brightly. He gave Quatre's shoulder a slight shake. "You okay?"

Quatre nodded. Zechs handed him the pillowcase, and Quatre reluctantly put Sandy back in amid his clothes. He gripped the bundle tight.

"Let's go," said Duo. "Say goodbye, everyone. Goodbye, Hell! Good fucking riddance."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Where will they go? What will they do? You'll have to wait and find out!

So I'll just cut this short and get back to writing, okay?

Thanks for reading!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	45. According to Plan

LSC / 12-12-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Five: According to Plan)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 45

**According to Plan**

* * *

The three of them went through the overgrown bushes and tall grass, down into a small drainage ditch, and popped up alongside a narrow, unlit road. Duo tilted his head back to look at the stars for a second before deciding on which direction to lead them. The black line of the road stretched out against the dark night, and the one time they saw a set of headlights approaching they had plenty of time to hide down in the ditch until the car raced past.

Quatre struggled to contain a yawn as the excitement and adrenaline of their escape wore off and left behind a weary sense of dull disbelief. They'd made it, or so it seemed, his panic over the fence aside. Quatre felt his face heating at the memory and was grateful for the darkness. He looked at Duo's back, the boy just in front of him, a black outline in the moonlight, and felt a rush of gratitude mixed with guilt. He should never have dragged Duo, or Zechs, into this, but he was glad they'd come.

Duo seemed to know exactly where to take them, even though to Quatre it seemed a tangled mess of side roads, empty fields, and industrial lots. He yawned again, nearly tripped over a parking pylon, and needed Zechs's quick hand on his arm to keep his feet. "Thanks," he said.

"How much longer?" Zechs lengthened his stride to catch up with Duo. "Where are we going?"

"I told you, Quatre has a plan. I'm just the navigator. You can be the, I don't know, the beauty consultant. Or height expert. Hell, I don't care, pick a title and roll with it." Duo skirted them around the pool of light surrounding an intersection.

They all three ducked behind a dumpster to wait for a lone car to drive past. Quatre tried to stifle another yawn, but Duo noticed. "Not much further, I shouldn't think," he said. "You're sure, though?"

Quatre nodded.

"All right, kiddo, you're the boss." Duo grinned. "Man, I tell you, when I did this before it was such bullshit. I slept in alley and made friends with a hobo. I ate out of a dumpster which, actually, I guess was an improvement over the hospital food."

"You ran away before?" Zechs asked.

"Yeah, about five months ago I guess. I lucked out that some orderly on a smoke break forgot to lock the cafeteria fire exit, like way back in the kitchens, and so I took the opportunity. I'd been in the kitchens looking for extra food or something, I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time." Duo jumped on top of the raised ledge running between the sidewalk and a dark office building. Arms held out to either side, he crossed the narrow lip of the flowerbed like a tightrope walker.

"But you got caught, I guess?"

Duo wind-milled his arms for balance and swayed precariously to one side. He hopped back down to the sidewalk. "Yeah, I guess."

"How'd they find you? Did you get arrested or something?"

"Something like that," Duo said evasively.

Quatre remembered uneasily what Wufei had told him, a very long time ago, about when Duo ran away. It had been Heero, apparently, who dragged Duo back to the hospital. And now Quatre became concerned; surely Duo was thinking the same thing, and just as certainly Duo would want to meet with Heero.

After another empty stretch of parking lot, a long detour around an opened and busy gas station, and two narrow alleys, they ended up facing a busy four-lane road lined with well-lit businesses. To their right was a car lot, filled with spotlights and brand new cars, and to their left a few rundown buildings fronted with connected parking lots.

"Somewhere around here, I think," Duo said. He jerked his head to the left. "Try not to look so nervous… Here, Quatre, let me carry your stuff, so you're not swinging it in full view of the street. Someone might think it's full of diamonds or stereos or some shit. Zechs, you walk between Quatre and the street. You look older."

Quatre worried at the hem of his shirt, since he was denied the reassuring presence of his bear. He peeked anxiously at the bundles Duo carried. It was insane to think that Sandy might have fallen out since the last time he checked.

A few blocks later they were able to get out of the view of the street by going around behind a strip mall. A raccoon ran out from behind the dumpsters when they got near, and Quatre flinched back with a small shout at the sudden motion. He thought they might hush at him, or be upset he'd yelled, but Duo and Zechs both just laughed. He reclaimed his pillowcase from Duo, and prodded carefully to find Sandy again through the fabric.

Somewhere nearby, the highway overpass roared softly out the sounds of racing cars, and Quatre knew they had to be close. Once they got around the strip mall and climbed up a small hill into the back of a drive-through restaurant, Quatre could see the lights and signs just across the way. Between them and the cheap motel was a dark field with a soggy retention pond, just visible in the cast off lights from the surrounding buildings.

"Tada," said Duo. "You'd never think to look at me, but I have a really good head for directions. Psst! That's why I get to be the navigator," he said to Zechs, in a very loud whisper.

"What, that's your plan? Hide in a hotel until morning? Or are we meant to camp out in this field? How the hell do you propose we even pay for a hotel room? I don't know about you, but I'm flat-ass broke." Zechs kicked at a loose chunk of cement and sent it flying into the grass.

"That's why it's a good plan," Duo argued. "I'm starting to get tired, and I'm a fucking insomniac, so that means you two have got to be ready for La La-land, and a hotel's a damned better idea than an alley. They probably won't even notice we're missing until none of us show up for morning med checks, so right now our biggest risk is that someone like a cop gets suspicious and starts asking us questions. Who'd even suspect that we'd be living it up like real people, not slumming it like a bunch of street kids."

"Okay, but, I'm still broke. You manage to get a hold of a hotel room key somehow?"

Quatre pulled the envelope out from his back pocket. He flipped it over and over in hands for a moment, until both Duo and Zechs took notice and looked at him. Duo smiled, because Quatre had already assured him that he would be able to take care of it, but Zechs just frowned. Quatre slipped his thumb under the tape and nudged open the flap. He tilted it to show them the contents.

Duo let out a low whistle. "Holy shit, kiddo, you weren't joking."

"What the hell?" said Zechs.

"It's my birthday money," Quatre said quietly. It was, in fact, several years' worth of birthday money. Every year Rashid, his father's assistant, gave him another envelope, and every year Quatre just tucked it away with the rest. He never even counted it.

"Well happy fucking birthday," Duo said with a grin. "Okay, Zechs, you're the beauty consultant. Time to put your respectable, responsible 'I'm an adult and everything's cool' face on and go get the room. Quatre, give him, like, forty bucks out of your hoard. We'll wait over there," he pointed across the field at the motel parking lot, "by those vending machines. Come find us when you have a room key."

They tried to find a dry path across the field, but Quatre ended up getting soaked up to the ankle a misstep sent him squishing into a puddle. He shook off his shoe as best he could and hurried to catch up with Duo. Zechs untied his hair and quickly ran his fingers through the long tresses before heading in the opposite direction, toward the front desk.

Duo leaned against one of the vending machine. "You got anything smaller than a twenty in that envelope? I'd kill for a candy bar or something outta this thing."

Quatre shook his head. He realized he was clutching the bundle of cash still and quickly stuffed it back into his pocket. Duo jabbed at the coin return to see if anyone had abandoned some change to no avail. "Bummer," Duo said. "We'll need to start breaking that down into smaller bills. And change, for the buses tomorrow."

Before long, Zechs came around the corner with the two flat hotel cardkeys and assured them the night clerk hadn't asked any questions or seemed suspicious. "Just tired and grumpy I'd woke her up," Zechs said. "Here, we're upstairs."

They climbed up the metal staircase to the second floor of rooms and found room 246 near more vending machines, and Duo paused to check the coin returns. "Zechs, you get any change back?"

"Yeah, here."

"Awesome," Duo said, feeding a dollar into the machine. "You guys want anything?"

"Just a bed," Zechs said. He slid the cardkey through the lock and then pushed the door open. Duo waited for a frosted honey bun to drop out of the machine before he joined them. Quatre's nose twitched at the stale, dusty smell of the room, but it was a welcomed change from the sterile, disinfection of the hospital.

The three of them eyed the two double beds. Besides a television and a small bathroom, there wasn't much else in the room. Duo flipped the "do not disturb" sign outside and locked the door securely after them, even throwing over the chain. "All right, Quatre gets a bed because he's both the brains and the purse. Zechs, you can have a bed since you're the beauty consultant and you'll need your beauty sleep. As navigator I'll take the floor."

Zechs stretched his hands up over his head. "Sounds good."

"We can share," Quatre offered. "I don't mind. You don't have to take the floor."

"It's whatever," said Duo. "But, okay, thanks."

Duo upended his pillowcase on the bedspread and dug his toothbrush out from the jumbled pile of stuff; Quatre noticed he'd brought a thick book held together with three rubber bands across the front, a too-small green tank top, and a mountain of black clothes. Quatre felt maybe he had brought too little, looking at Duo's collection, but then Zechs emptied his pockets out on to the nightstand. A toothbrush, two hair ties, a plastic comb, a stick of deodorant, and one wadded pair of boxers was apparently all he had packed. Quatre had certainly thought to bring more than that. He found his own toothbrush and reclaimed Sandy, who looked no worse for wear having made the journey inside the pillowcase.

"Wait. Did anyone even pack toothpaste?" Duo asked.

Quatre brought Sandy up to his face to conceal a sudden giggle. Duo shoved everything back into his pillowcase with a laugh. "Fuck it, then. I'm going to bed."

* * *

Quatre woke abruptly, convinced he was late for breakfast and that any moment an orderly would come shake him out of bed and yell at him not to sleep in – and then he remembered, grinning into his pillow. He heard the television on, very faint and mostly just an electrical sound, and the shower running as well. He sat up and saw Duo perched on the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the screen as he chewed away at the honey bun from the night before.

"Morning," Quatre said with a yawn.

"Mormingsh!" Duo mumbled through a mouthful of honey bun. He swallowed and gestured to Quatre with the half-eaten pastry. "You want some?"

"No, that's fine." Quatre unstrapped the splint from his wrist and flexed all the fingers, wincing as the motion pulled at the still-tender muscles. He replaced the splint and firmly fixed the velcro straps in place. Quatre glanced to the closed bathroom door where, presumably, Zechs was still showering. Duo must have gotten up first; his braid was still wet. "Hey, Duo?"

"Yup," Duo said. He turned his attention away from the television, which was turned to some cooking show. "What's up?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Quatre shrugged and traced a finger over the pattern on the bedspread. "Where are you going to go?"

"You know, I should be asking you that." Duo found the remote and turned off the television. "But damned if you don't seem to have everything all planned out already. I figured you've got to have some reason for keeping quiet about your master plan. The way I look at it, you're the only one of us who's going to have anyone out looking for them anyway. Well, Zechs has his mom, so who knows what that's all about. But, you. Someone's going to come looking for you."

Quatre said nothing and just curled his fingers around Sandy's face for a second, dragging the bear out from the bedding.

"Well, don't worry, I won't pry. You've got your reasons for doing this, that's cool with me. I'll be fine on my own. You need to run off now? I'll break the news to Zechs, don't worry about that, and don't worry about me. I've been on my own before."

"No, that's not what I meant," Quatre protested. "That wouldn't be fair of me."

"Hey, you're the one with the plan and the money," Duo countered.

Quatre tore at Sandy's plastic eye for a moment. "Well," he said. "I guess."

Duo rescued him from awkward, nervous stammering. "All right, fair enough, you did ask first. I'm an orphan, you know, so the way I figure it, I got two options. Option one, I can lay low or leave town, or whatever, and bide my time until spring. I'll turn eighteen and there's not much they can do to me after that. Option two, well, you might have guessed already. I can see if Heero will take me in."

"But…"

Duo laughed, but it came out hard and bitter. "You heard? Yeah, I chose option two last time I ran away. Maybe he'll feel differently now."

The shower cut off, and Quatre held back from saying thing else. He gathered up his things and, once Zechs came out of the bathroom, took his turn getting ready for the day. He found that Duo and Zechs, between them, had used all the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner, so Quatre just settled for scrubbing off the lingering feel of the hospital.

Once he was all done and ready, Quatre stepped out of the bathroom to find Duo braiding Zechs's hair. Zechs wore the same shirt as yesterday, and Duo could have been as well for all Quatre knew. He had his own braid stuffed up under his hat again.

"You know, Quatre, I was thinking. We could stop by a drugstore and get some hair dye. How'd you feel about being a brunette? Hold still, Zechs, don't make this hard for me."

"Um," said Quatre.

Duo swiftly plaited together the last bit of platinum and snapped a hair tie over the end of the braid. "There, marvelous," he declared.

Zechs ran a hand over his hair and made a face. "I hate it. But it beats a crew cut."

"What? That doesn't make sense."

"Forget about it," Zechs muttered. He turned his attention to Quatre. "Now what?"

"I don't know," Quatre said. "Are you hungry? We can get breakfast."

"Awesome," Duo purred. "Let's find a completely trashy greasy spoon diner. I want my food slathered in butter and deep fried and, oh, man. Fuck, yes, Quatre, that is an excellent idea. Switch out your pillowcase, by the way. We'll chuck the hospital ones in the dumpster outside; they're embossed with Saint Helen's logo on the corner."

"And take these?" Quatre asking, shucking the motel pillow free of its case. "Won't the maid notice?"

"People take all kinds of shit from motels. They won't miss them. Better would be a couple shopping bags or something, but this will work for now."

Quatre shifted all his things over and reluctantly added Sandy to the rest; he knew better than to risk carrying around a teddy bear. He might as well wear a sign that said, _Hi, ask me about my neuroses_. He knew better, and it didn't make him feel the least bit less anxious.

Zechs took the cardkeys into the front desk to check out while Quatre and Duo waited outside by the downstairs vending machines again. Quatre yawned and flipped his watch around so he could check the time; surprisingly late, almost ten, so he'd slept in after all. They were bound to have noticed them missing at the hospital by now, and that thought sent a tremor of fear and excitement through him.

They started walking, hoping to find a good breakfast spot within an easy distance. Duo took the lead again, and Quatre gratefully let him. He hadn't intended to have two tagalongs, but now that Duo and Zechs were with him, he felt vaguely responsible. His conversation earlier with Duo worried at him, nibbling little anxious concerns through his racing thoughts. For all his planning and daydreaming over the last few weeks, Quatre felt ridiculously unprepared. He should just leave Duo and Zechs on their own and get going, but… His cheeks heated, and Quatre knew he was grateful for more than just their company or Duo's sense of direction; he needed them as a convenient excuse to delay his own plan, which was starting to seem sillier and sillier.

Duo settled on a place called Waffle Barn, which didn't seem particular barn-shaped at all, and despite no smoking signs everywhere the place fairly reeked of stale cigarettes. Duo declared it perfect, and they piled into a booth against the window. The food, when it arrived, was just as greasy and delicious as Duo hoped, worlds beyond anything at the hospital cafeteria, and even Zechs seemed pleased. Quatre had ordered the waffles, thinking the restaurant's namesake to be a safe bet, and practically drowned them in warm syrup.

Once they were just about finished eating, Quatre carefully shifted his envelope of cash out from his pocket and dug out several twenty dollar bills. "Here," he said, giving three to Zechs and three to Duo. "Just in case. I feel weird holding on to it all."

"Are you sure?" Duo asked. "I mean, I'd object, but I know you've got a lot more."

Zechs said nothing, but he did give Quatre such a curious look that he felt embarrassed and shy for no real reason. Quatre grabbed the check off the table and mumbled something to Duo before bolting to the register to pay. He had the waitress give him a few dollars' worth of quarters as part of his change, thinking to use it for the bus.

Quatre glanced over at the booth. Duo was polishing off the last of his considerable breakfast, something called the Lumberjack Special that arrived on two separate plates, while Zechs stared out the window with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do you have a phone I could use?" he asked the woman behind the counter.

"Sure, hon," she said. She disappeared into the back for a moment and came back out with a cordless phone. "Here ya go."

"Thanks." Quatre glanced to his watch before dialing, wanting to make sure it wouldn't be too early. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang and – Quatre hung up and handed the phone back to the woman. "Thanks," he said again. He turned and went back to the booth just as Duo's head swiveled around to find him.

"Ready?" Duo asked. "Where did you want to go next?"

"Um," Quatre hesitated. No one had answered, so did that mean no one was home?

"Excellent idea," Duo said. "And after all that syrup, you'll need some serious toothpaste and brush action to avoid cavities. Zechs, you still in, or did you have somewhere to be?" Duo knocked his hip into the door to open it.

"Sure," said Zechs with a shrug.

Duo squinted at the bright summer sun and tugged his hat lower across his forehead. "Quatre, did you get change? I am ridiculously tired of walking and sick of the suburbs. Let's take the bus into the city."

He led them the short walk to a bus stop, checked the schedule, and then flopped down on the sidewalk to wait. Zechs leaned against the bus sign, rather than sit. Quatre bounced on his toes and debated if anyone would even notice if he dug Sandy out, maybe just for a few minutes. He was still thinking about it when the bus rolled up. Quatre paid for the three of them while Duo found a row of empty seats near the back. They ended up with Zechs near the window, Quatre in the middle, and Duo on the aisle seat.

The bus lumbered along at a leisurely pace, or so it seemed to Quatre. He was just glad to be anywhere other than the hospital. Maybe they could just ride the buses around the city all day to kill time; the view was at least interesting. Quatre leaned forward to see around Zechs. They passed apartment buildings, townhouses, store fronts, a cemetery, a park – things so normal that Quatre thought for sure he was going to wake up in his room at the hospital at any minute. It was at once a thousand times worse and a thousand times better than the day trip he'd taken with Wufei, because then he'd still been just another patient, surrounded by nurses and orderlies, except for that brief stolen moment with Trowa… Quatre felt a blush rise.

They were stopped at a red light, and Quatre looked out the window at the building. It was a diner fronted by large glass windows, so that he could see inside at the post-church crowd seated along the booths and tables. As he watched, one of the waitresses approached a booth full of ladies in their Sunday dresses. The young woman smiled at them, and Quatre felt a rush of cold from head to toe.

The light changed, and the bus started to roll forward through the intersection. Quatre jumped to his feet and threw himself over Zechs to grab the stop cord. "What the hell?" said Zechs, and Duo echoed the sentiment as Quatre all but fell over him in his haste to get free of the seats. The driver cleared the intersection and pulled up to the next stop, just a little ways up from the light. Quatre was already up and standing by the rear doors, so the second they opened he squeezed through and out on to the sidewalk.

"Hey!" Duo called. He snagged Quatre's arm. "Wait up! What gives?"

Quatre shook him off and hurriedly retraced their path back to the diner. He had to be sure.

"We just ate. Are you still hungry?" Duo asked, hurry to keep pace. Zechs followed at a lag, his long strides easily matching theirs.

Quatre hugged the entire pillowcase bundle to his chest. He couldn't see her through the windows anymore. He could see other waitresses in the same mint green uniform, but not her, and Quatre felt sudden fear that he'd just imagined it. He heard Zechs and Duo consulting in a whisper, the gist of it being something like, _What the hell?_ But Quatre didn't bother to explain, not until he was sure.

"Look!" he cried.

She'd come out of the kitchen carrying a tray of water glasses. Oblivious to Quatre's intense stare, Catherine Bloom smiled as she delivered the drinks to her table of church ladies.

Duo turned his head. "Look at what? What's going on, Quatre? What are – Oh, my God."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

This turned out to be a very long chapter! Hopefully that's okay.

I was re-reading through the reviews from years back, and I'm so very happy that so many of the old readers are finding the new updates. I still feel really bad about just abandoning this story for so long. Everyone leaving reviews; thank you! Thank you for letting me know there's still an interest in this story and that my old readers are still out there! You guys motivate me so much.

I'll see you next time. I regretfully inform you that this week is going to be insane for me schedule wise, so there's a slight chance I might take a few days to get the next update. If it takes me longer than that, I'll update my livejournal and my profile to offer reassurance.

Of course there is also the very likely scenario I'll ignore all my obligations and do nothing but write!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	46. Together

LSC / 12-13-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Six: Together)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 46

**Together**

* * *

Charred food substance adhered to the plate finally broke free under Trowa's relentless scrubbing and he added the plate to the nearly full steam rack. He wiped an elbow across his moist forehead, equal parts steam and sweat covered, and shoved the rack into the sanitizer. For the first time that shift he was ahead on dishes, but the lull would be short lived. In the buzz and rush of the kitchen, his sink was an oasis of calm, but since the tables were full and orders were pouring in, he'd been overloaded again soon.

Trowa raised the hatch on the sanitizer and pulled the last rack free so it could dry. He fished out the chain to the sink stopper and then dried his hands on his apron. Trowa looked around the kitchen, and then went to peek out through the order counter; Catherine was busy taking the order at a six-top. He moved out of the way of an incoming meatloaf special, dodged an outgoing plate of pie, and made it safely over to the cubby where the waitresses all kept their bags and purses. He dug the GED study guide out from under Catherine's bag and then went to find Gloria, the lunch cook.

"What'd you need, hun?" she asked, once she spotted Trowa hovering just to the side of the griddle. She flipped a pile of hash browns without looking at them.

He held up the book and then tipped his head toward the backdoor.

"Sounds good, sugar, I'll tell Cathy if she comes looking for you." Gloria turned her attention back to the grill in time to save the eggs from going over-hard instead of over-easy.

Trowa hung his apron on the peg by the backdoor before stepping outside into the small staff-only parking lot. One of the waitresses, Catherine's friend with the pink-tipped blonde hair, stood in the shadow of the building smoking. "Hey," she said.

Trowa ignore her. Gravel crunched underfoot as he settled on top of a parking pylon and opened the book across his lap. He caught the pen he'd been using as a bookmark before it could roll off and fall.

"What're you reading?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she took a long draw off her cigarette and then dropped it to the ground. She worked the toe of her loafers over the butt, grinding out the ember. "Does Cathy know you're out here?"

Trowa carefully bubbled in one of the circles on the practice quiz. Most of the questions were easy, especially the math section which asked a lot about measurements and money.

A waitress-shaped shadow fell over the book. "So you really just don't talk, ever? That's so weird. You really must be crazy."

Trowa stared at the words on the page without reading them; if he just ignored her, she'd eventually lose interest. They always did, if he just waited long enough.

He heard her tap out another cigarette. "You want one?" she asked. She crouched next to him, one arm around her knees. "Even crazy kids gotta live a little. I won't tell Cathy." She tipped the pack toward him.

He really wanted her to stop saying crazy. He didn't like that word. He wanted to tell her,_ I'm not crazy_. But he couldn't, so maybe he had to admit she was right.

"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug. She flicked her thumb over the metal wheel of her lighter and cupped the wavering flame to the tip of the cigarette. She blew a long puff of smoke over the pages of his book. "Wow, look at those," she remarked.

Trowa followed her line of sight and abruptly jerked his arms away, smothering the scars to his chest. He bolted to his feet, the study guide and pen both falling to the ground.

She rocked back on her feels, startled, and had to put a hand out to keep from tumbling off-balance. "Okay, geez. Fucking psycho," she said. She got to her feet and tossed the barely used cigarette down. She stamped it out but left the butt; the ground right outside the backdoor was already littered with a carpet of them.

Only once she'd gone back inside and the door closed after her did Trowa sit back down and recover his book. He spun the pen back and forth, too distracted to focus on the practice questions anymore. Despite the heat of the day he felt goosebumps on his arms, and not for the first time he longed for the sweaters and turtleneck he'd worn at the hospital. Even though they all knew, Duo and Wufei and the rest, they all knew but had never seen his scars, and somehow that made it tolerable.

Eventually he'd have to go back inside and start washing dishes again. That was okay, he liked the work, but for the moment he felt content just to sit there. Trowa lowered his attention back down to the book; Catherine wanted him to take this seriously, and he liked how happy she looked whenever he studied.

At first he did not hear the voices. That is, he registered the sounds as people talking, but not actual words or sentences. He assumed it was just the next shift coming in to replace people like Catherine who had been there since breakfast, that is, until he heard, very clearly and distinctly, his own name.

Three boys came around the corner toward him. Trowa froze. He rose up slowly and pinned the book to his chest like a shield, hiding the inside of his arms with the gesture.

"Trowa!" shouted Duo again. "Holy crap, it's really him. Come on, Quatre, what're you dragging your feet for? Go say hi." He grabbed Quatre's arm and urged the small blonde forward. Big, wide, aquamarine eyes locked on Trowa's face for a moment before falling shyly to the ground.

Trowa shifted his attention to the third boy, the only one he didn't recognize, but he had a pretty good guess anyway. What had Quatre said the new boy's name was, the one that Treize had a thing with? It didn't matter, and before Trowa could really think about it Duo had both arms around him in a hug.

Trowa stiffened, flinching away from the touch, and Duo released him with a laugh. "Look at you!" he said. "Quatre, get the fuck over here, you're the one who bolted off the bus and insisted we come try to play Guess Which Car is Catherine's. Were you not expecting to find Trowa instead? Hey, Tro, which car is Catherine's anyway?"

Quatre edged closer. He clutched a cloth bundle in one hand and the other – Trowa's stomach dropped as he noticed the medical brace over Quatre's left wrist. And where was his bear, Sandy? And, wait, what were they even doing here? Trowa looked quizzically at Duo.

"Right, I know," said Duo. "You seem confused. I don't blame you."

"I'm confused," said the tall stranger. "Who is this?"

"Oh, yeah," said Duo. "Zechs, Trowa. Trowa, Zechs."

Trowa inclined his head slightly in greeting before turning his attention back to Quatre. The younger boy finally looked up at him and offered a sly, secretive smile. "Hi," said Quatre.

_Hi_. Trowa nearly blurted it out, right there in front of Duo, but he refrained at the last second. He glanced at the backdoor. By now the dishes must be starting to accumulate, and someone would think to come find him. He never took very long breaks, since he liked the work. Maybe Catherine would be too busy working her tables to come check on him.

"Do you work here, too? We saw your sister out front," Duo explained. "Do you think she'll recognize me? Shit, she probably will, if she sees me. Well, you probably didn't tell her much about us." Duo chuckled. "So it isn't like she'll see us and immediately be, like, oh-em-gee, runaway crazy guys, call the cops. Right?"

_You ran away?_ Trowa spun his gaze between shy Quarte and bold Duo and back again.

"Oh, yeah," said Duo. "Surprise! We flew the coop. Don't tell anyone."

"Jesus, Duo, that's it? You're just going to blurt it out like that? How do you know you can trust this guy? No offense, Trowa, but we did just meet," said Zechs.

Duo's mouth twitched a few times as he tried and failed to suppress a grin. "Trowa is the best at keeping secrets. He's not going to t-tell anyone." The words broke apart into a burst of giddy laughter.

Zechs level a glare at him for a moment before looking to Trowa. "How do you know them?"

_You ran away?_ Trowa tried to catch Quatre's eyes, but he was withdrawn and shy again, looking down at the ground. _This isn't another day trip, is it?_

"Hey," said Zechs. Trowa could hear a note of frustration in his voice. "I'm talking to you."

Duo managed to stop laughing and waved a hand in a frantic gesture. "Zechs, come here for a second," he said. The two of them went around behind a parked car so Duo could whisper an explanation.

Trowa reached out with one hand and gently tipped Quatre's chin up. _You ran away?_

Quatre bit his lip, timid apology all over his face. "I wanted to see you again," he explained in a soft voice. His eyes fell away from Trowa's. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. And, Trowa…"

The words tumbled into a silence between them. Quatre slowly circled his gaze to Trowa's shoulder, the top of his head, his ear, and then at last their eyes met. Quatre's lips parted slightly as a blush raced across his face. Trowa's heart began a loud, steady drumming in his chest.

Behind them, the backdoor creaked open. Trowa snapped his hand away and turned to see Catherine step outside. She started to call his name, and then stopped when she caught sight of him. Trowa had the insane urge to just grab Quatre's hand and start running; it didn't matter where they went, so long as it wasn't there.

"Oh," said Catherine. "Trowa? What are you doing?" She slowly stepped toward them.

"Hello," said Quatre quickly. He carefully set his bundle on the ground, which Trowa was pretty sure was actually a pillowcase, now that he got a good look at it. Quatre went right up to her, shockingly calm. "My name is Quatre. You must be Trowa's sister. I'm pleased to meet you," he said. He put out his good hand for her to shake. As if Trowa wasn't already shocked; he knew Quatre generally disliked being touched.

Catherine took his hand in hers for a moment. "Yes, hello," she said, mostly operating on polite reflexes. "I'm Catherine. Do… Do I know you?"

"I don't think so," said Quatre. "We've never met before."

"But, how do you know Trowa?" She looked warily between them.

Trowa glance sideways and could no longer see Duo or Zechs. He lowered his gaze slightly and could just barely see a shadow underneath the parked car. The two of them must have ducked into hiding when Catherine came outside. He returned his attention to Quatre and his sister, and tried to look as innocent as possible. He had no idea what sort of lie or explanation Quatre would give, but the younger boy seemed completely at ease with the situation. Almost as if he'd been prepared for it.

"We were at school together last year. I was cutting across the parking lot and happened to run into Trowa just now." Quatre smiled, the picture of guileless innocence.

"You were at St Gabriel's?"

Quatre nodded. "But I'm attending a school here, in September. I didn't like it there."

"Oh," said Catherine. She looked confused but willing to believe the lie. "Well, okay. Are you hungry, Trowa? I was just going to see if you wanted to eat a quick lunch. Maybe your friend can join you? My treat." Catherine brightened considerably upon saying the words "your friend" in reference to Trowa, and when she caught sight of the study guide her smile widened even further.

"Thank you," said Quatre. "I'd like that."

"I better get back. Sit anywhere in my section, okay?" She gave him a sort of half-wave and disappeared back into the diner.

"Oh, my God!" said Duo, popping out of his hiding place. "That was close! Quatre, what the fuck was all that? What's this 'I went to school with Trowa' nonsense?"

Quatre turned bright red and went to reclaim his pillowcase bundle. The way he held it up against his side reminded Trowa of Sandy, and suddenly he had a very good idea of where the teddy bear must have gone. Quatre shrugged, suddenly very shy and unsure again, and said, "Trowa, I'm sorry, I got into Doctor Richards's files and read a tiny bit of yours. I knew I'd need something to tell Catherine, and it couldn't be the truth."

"I'll be damned, Quatre! You fucking super spy," Duo shook his head. He took off his black baseball cap and his braid tumbled free. He adjusted the band on the cap and then re-hid his braid. "Was this your master plan, finding Trowa? I should have guessed. That's so adorable I might puke rainbows."

Quatre blushed all the more furiously red and refused to look at Trowa.

Trowa just shrugged. He was feeling more than a little overwhelmed at the entire situation.

"So, we'll split up," Duo declared. "Is this goodbye, then?"

"No," said Quatre quickly. "I mean, I don't know. Can I hang out with you for a bit, Trowa?"

_Yes. Yes, of course._ Trowa nodded.

"Let's meet up again later." Quatre looked first at Duo and then to Zechs. "We're in this together, okay?" He sounded anxious, and scared, and Trowa instinctively took a small step closer to him.

"Sure," said Zechs. He shucked his hands into his pockets.

Duo's face softened. "Yeah, of course. You live nearby, Trowa? Cool. Write it down for me."

Trowa pulled the pen out of his book and searched his pockets for a scrap of paper. Duo stuck out his hand, palm up. "Just write it on there," he said. "I can't lose it that way." Trowa tucked the book up under his arm and gripped Duo's hand to carefully print Catherine's address onto the expanse of skin.

"I've never seen your handwriting," Duo remarked. His eyes drifted slowly to Trowa's forearms, and Trowa hurriedly finished writing and then retreated, almost using Quatre as a human buffer between him and any further observations Duo wanted to make. Duo just shrugged and said, "Is there anything across the street or nearby? Like a movie theater or cafe maybe?"

Trowa nodded; there was a coffee shop across from the convenience store where Catherine liked to get donuts on the mornings she didn't have to work. It was within walking distance from the apartment.

"That's where we'll be," Duo told Quatre. "Just come find us whenever."

"Okay," said Quatre.

"Bye, Trowa. See ya," Duo said. He turned to leave. Quatre abruptly jumped forward and threw his arms around Duo. He said something too quiet for Trowa to hear. Duo turned within the hug and then gently took Quatre by both shoulders to push him back slightly. He spoke softly, but loud enough that Trowa distinctly heard the words. "It's okay, kiddo. Option two can wait."

Quatre nodded, eyes bright with worry as he watched the two of them leave. Only after they were gone did he turned to look at Trowa, all withdrawn and hesitant again, but it seemed a sweet sort of shyness, and Trowa did not mind.

He found Quatre's hand with his own and tugged him toward the diner. Quatre came along willingly. Trowa's back rested up against the door, but he did not try to open it. He folded Quatre close and rested his cheek against blonde hair. "I missed you," he whispered.

Quatre nudged up against him with a soft, kittenish sound. "Me too."

Trowa dipped his head at the same time Quatre lifted his, and their lips met. Quatre felt soft and tasted sweet, his lips just slightly sticky. Trowa slipped a hand low across the boy's back and pressed their bodies together, just for a moment wanting to feel Quatre against him even though he knew he was being reckless. Quatre's splinted wrist bumped against his arm and the stiff fingers brushed over his skin, sending shivers radiating out from each contact point.

Reluctantly Trowa broke them apart, settling Quatre back a few steps with a gentle hand on the boy's hip to guide him. Quatre smiled, shy and blushing, but with that same tenderness that Trowa treasured. Before he could stop himself, Trowa tipped forward and brushed his lips over Quatre's cheek. "You," he said quietly. He couldn't say anything else; the words scattered and escaped when he reached for them.

Quatre smiled again, and Trowa knew he understood.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Oh. Would you look at that? Guess who didn't do laundry or clean her kitchen like she was supposed to today? That's right. This girl, right here.

And can you blame me?

Thanks for reading!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	47. Together, Again

LSC / 12-14-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Seven: Together, Again)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 47

**Together, Again**

* * *

Trowa led him through the back of the kitchen and out into the dining area. They settled into a small table in the corner of the diner, and Quatre fiddled nervously with his bundle of silverware. It seemed very surreal, sitting there with Trowa. Surreal, and wonderful, and a giddy sort of happiness bubbling up within him whenever he looked at the other boy, to the point that Quatre found himself looking almost anywhere else.

He tucked his pillowcase underneath his chair. Trowa set a thick book to the side of the table, and Quatre curiously took a peek at the title. Trowa noticed, and spun the cover so he could see.

"Oh, neat," said Quatre. "You're studying for the GED?"

Trowa nodded. Just then, Catherine came over with a set of laminated menus for them. "Hi!" she said cheerfully. "What'd you want to drink, Quatre?"

"Just water is fine," he told her. "Thank you."

She patted Trowa briefly on the shoulder before leaving to take the order of a booth on the opposite end of her section. Quatre leaned over the table slightly and lowered his voice. "We should get out stories straight, before she starts asking me questions. The only I thing I saw in your file was the name and location of the school."

Trowa nodded again, his eyes on his sister. He flipped open the study guide and spun through the pages until he ended up in the reading section. Trowa turned the book to the side, so they could both see it easily, and tapped at a word with the end of his pen._ Go_.

Quatre smiled. "Okay. So, St Gabriel's is a private academy, and you lived there?"

Trowa nodded.

"So I would have lived there, too. Did we live in the same dorm?"

Trowa agreed and, after a moment of scanning the text, found the word he wanted. _Next._

"Next? Oh, next door? Okay, that sounds good. I guess we wouldn't have had any classes together, since you're a year older than I am."

Trowa hesitated for a second and then shook his head. He gestured to himself before tapping the table twice.

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Quatre glanced up and quickly smoothed out his puzzled frown before Catherine arrived back at their table with two tall glasses of ice water.

"Are you helping Trowa study?" Catherine asked. She seemed pleased with the idea, so Quatre nodded. "That's so nice of you. Did you two decide on anything to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry. I had a late breakfast," Quatre explained.

Trowa held up the menu and pointed something out to Catherine. She wrote it on her order pad before taking both their menus and leaving. Trowa watched her carefully until she disappeared into the kitchen, and then he wrote quickly across the margin of the book. _Last year I was a sophomore still. I never did well in school. Absent too much. We'd have had all same classes._

Trowa wrote in square block letters, very clean and neat. Once he was sure Quatre saw the message, he scribbled it out and turned through the pages to hide it. Quatre remembered Duo's earlier comment, about never having seen Trowa's handwriting.

"Two taps, second year. That makes sense. I'm sorry," Quatre said again.

A sudden scowl crossed Trowa's face, and he shook his head firmly from side to side. The meaning was clear, and it made Quatre smile. "Not your fault either, Trowa," he said quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Trowa ducked his head, hiding behind the long sweep of his bangs for a moment. Quatre thought about reaching across the table and taking Trowa's hand in his own. The impulse filled him, overtook him, and Quatre blushed deeply. Feeling flustered, he made the mistake of reaching for his water glass with his splinted hand and nearly knocked it all over the table. He quickly steadied it with his other hand.

Trowa reached out and gently tapped the brace with the tip of his pen.

"Oh," said Quatre. "Nothing. I tripped. It's just a sprain."

Trowa tapped it again, a bit more urgently.

"I'll tell you later. It's a long story. But, really, it's just a sprain. It doesn't even hurt much. Tell me a bit more about St Gabriel's. What classes did we take?"

Trowa used the book to answer, flipping through the pages. To Catherine, hustling around her section and only glancing their way every so often, it must have seemed like they were studying very hard indeed. Quatre kept a close on her, just in case she drew too close, but the booth nearest them was empty.

She did come to their table to bring Trowa a cheeseburger and fries for lunch, and Quatre had to once again explain he wasn't hungry. He did nibble on some of the fries though, at Trowa's insistence. They were hot and crisp and so much better than anything he'd eaten in a long time, except maybe the waffles that morning.

Again using the example essays in the book as sources, Trowa carefully tapped out the names of the teacher's responsible for each of the subjects. Quatre tried to commit each to memory. He hoped that Catherine wouldn't question him too closely. With any luck she would be more focused on Trowa spending time with a friend. Quatre could see plainly that she worried about Trowa and, in his opinion, with good reason; he worried about Trowa, too.

The lunch crowd dwindled down, and Catherine came to linger at their table. She leaned against Trowa's chair and waved her order pad in front of her face. "You kids want anything else? Some ice cream or something? Gloria's just got a fresh cherry pie if you want a slice, Quatre."

"No, thank you," said Quatre.

"Don't worry about the dishes, Trowa. Once that four-top pays their check I'm out of here." Her eyes were a dusty sort of blue, the color of a cloudless sky, and Quatre tried and failed to see something of Trowa's deep emeralds in them. Seeing them side by side like this, he realized they did not look very much alike.

Trowa shrugged slightly and pretended to read a section in the book about the judicial system, or really was studying, Quatre's couldn't tell. Catherine's table got up to leave, and she waited until they were out the door before clearing up their plates and pocketing the tip money. She disappeared into the back, and Trowa rose out his chair. Quatre helped him clear their own table so they could take the dishes with them into the kitchen.

They waited for Catherine outside in the parking lot. Another waitress with pink-tipped blonde hair stood outside smoking a cigarette, and she grinned at seeing Trowa. "Hey again," she said. Trowa did not look happy to see her. He stalked across the gravel lot to stand next to a green sedan with a small dent across the passenger side, and Quatre hurried after him.

"Who's that?" he asked quietly. Trowa just shook his head.

Before long Catherine stepped outside and paused there by the door to talk briefly with the pink-haired waitress. Catherine had changed out of her work uniform and into a strappy sundress, and as she crossed the parking lot she dug a pair of red-framed sunglasses out of her bag. She seemed surprised to see Quatre standing by the car with Trowa. "Did you need a ride?" she asked kindly.

"Um," said Quatre.

Trowa came to his rescue. He held up the study guide and tilted his head toward Quatre.

"Oh, you want to study more?" Catherine brightened as she raked a hand through the contents of her bag, searching for something within the depths. "Sure. Hey, Trowa, will you run back inside and see if I left my keys? Thanks," she said.

Quatre hesitated, thinking he would just follow Trowa, but Catherine caught his eye and shook her head just slightly, so he stayed. Once the backdoor closed behind her brother, Catherine fixed him with a calculating look. Quatre tried not to seem anxious. For a single terrifying moment he felt convinced his ruse had failed miserably; she remembered seeing him at the hospital, or she knew he had not attended boarding school.

"Do you know why Trowa never came back, after winter break?" Catherine asked. She came around the side of the car to stand next to him. She wore platform cork sandals and seemed to loom over him as a result.

"Um," said Quatre. An explosion of panic formed deep within him and bubbled up through the cracks in his struggling calm. He grabbed hastily for the first reasonable lie. "I heard, um, rumors. So, yeah. I know."

"I see," she said. She stared at him, for so long that Quatre shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. He'd known this would happen; he just had to stay calm and stick to his story. He knew Catherine would have to be curious._ Stay calm. Stay focused._

"I was worried," Quatre said into the silence. "So I'm glad to, um, see him again." _Shut up, stop rambling!_ Quatre offered her a small smile instead.

"I see," she said again. "You're a good friend, then. I'm glad."

Quatre felt his cheeks warm. He felt bad for lying to her, but what else could he do? He couldn't very well say, _Yes, hello, I've run away from a mental hospital, please trust me with your brother_. That would be something Duo would try. Quatre curled his fingers tight against the cloth of the pillowcase, which was hidden between his leg and the car. He smiled again, not wanting to say too much.

Catherine pulled her keys from her purse. "I'll go tell Trowa to stop looking," she said.

Quatre watched as she left, and then returned not much later with Trowa in tow. She stopped again to speak with the other waitress, gesturing a few times to Trowa and then over to Quatre. Trowa nodded in agreement to whatever it was Catherine asked, and then the two of them returned to the car. Pretending not to see Trowa offer him the front seat, Quatre climbed into the back.

"Let me know if you get hot back there," Catherine called back over the sound of the radio. She thumbed the air conditioner vents over to blow between the seats. "Oh, I love this song." She turned up the volume and sang along in a soprano voice that clashed against the brassy vocals of the original. Quatre saw Trowa turn his head to the window, hiding a smile. After the song ended, Catherine nudged down the volume a little. She tapped her fingers along the rim of the steering wheel to keep time, and Quatre caught her mouthing some of the lyrics.

Catherine swung the car into the parking lot of a two-story apartment building several songs later. She parked directly under the staircase in a spot spray-painted with her apartment number. "I'm sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting company," Catherine explained as they went up the stairs.

"It's fine. Thanks for having me," Quatre said quickly. The apartment turned out to be perfectly clean and neat, minus small spots of clutter like several pairs of sandals near the door, some pens scattered across the coffee table, and a basket of laundry on the sofa.

Catherine dug around in her purse for a moment and fished out an orange prescription bottle. "Here, Trowa, come help me in the kitchen," she said. "Quatre, do you want anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." Quatre looked around the apartment. It had an empty feel to it, with not enough furniture and only a single framed art print against the far wall. The two of them disappeared into the kitchen for a little while, and he heard the soft sound of Catherine speaking. He stood there awkwardly until they reappeared, Catherine already reburying the pill bottle in the depths of her purse.

"Make yourself at home," she told Quatre. "I'm going out for a bit. Sara's number is on the fridge if you need anything, Trowa. Okay?" Catherine peered at her brother's blank face and then shifted just as intense of a gaze to Quatre. "Will you two be okay here?"

"Sure," he said. Trowa nodded.

"I'll be back in a few hours." Catherine wavered at the door, clearly hesitant, before slipping outside. Her key clicked the lock over, the small sound audible because they were both straining to listen.

Trowa crossed to the window and looked out around the curtains. "She must trust you," Trowa said quietly. "Or she must really be sick of babysitting me."

"What do you mean?" Quatre asked.

Trowa let the curtains drop from his hand. He turned and came slowly over to stand near to Quatre, almost too close, and Quatre had to resist the urge to take a sudden step back. "Nothing," said Trowa, his voice thick and bitter.

Cautiously, Quatre moved into the last little space between them, so that he nestled into Trowa. He felt some of the tension drain out from the other boy as Trowa put an arm around him. "I'm sorry," said Quatre. He dropped his pillowcase to the floor and curled his hand into the back of Trowa's shirt instead. "I'm sorry, Trowa."

"What for?"

"I don't know."

Trowa put his other arm around him. He said nothing, but held Quatre tight for a long moment. "Come on. Let's go pretend to study in my room. I'll be able to hear her coming better that way."

Quatre collected his things again and followed Trowa down the short hallway. The room was tidy in an empty sort of way that made it seem as if no one lived there. A blue and white striped comforter covered the narrow bed, and navy curtains blocked out all but the haziest motes of sunlight, leaving the room dim and cozy. On the nightstand was a lamp with a plastic football-shaped base, which seemed a little childish and somewhat odd.

Across the dresser were several framed photos, and Quatre picked up one of them, of a smiling man and woman in wedding finery. The man had dark hair flecked silver at the temple and could have the young bride's father, but was more likely the groom. After a bit of staring he thought he recognized the children on other side of the couple as a young Trowa and Catherine. "Oh, is this…?" Quatre turned, about to ask Trowa about the picture, but suddenly he was right there next to him. Trowa snatched the frame out of Quatre's hands.

"No," Trowa said shortly. He abruptly swept a hand over the dresser, knocking over the other pictures so forcefully that one toppled off and shattered broken glass into the carpet.

Quatre jerked back with a gasp. He clutched his bundle to his chest with both arms, heedless of his hurt wrist's sudden protest.

Trowa knelt and flipped over the broken frame. He carefully gathered up the bits of glass and set them back into the frame. "Sorry," he said, without looking at Quatre. He stood and set the frame on top of the dresser, next to the others lying face down and hidden.

"No, I…" Quatre swallowed a lump of panic. "I'm sorry."

Trowa picked up one of the frames, the one Quatre had been looking at of the wedding. "I'm sorry. Here, come here," Trowa said quietly. He reached, and Quatre moved without hesitation. Trowa pulled him close, tucking the smaller boy up against his side. Quatre let his pillowcase slip to the floor so he could take the photograph when Trowa offered it.

"That's me. That's Catherine." Trowa pointed to each in turn. He shifted his finger, first to the man in the tuxedo, and then to the smiling young woman in white at his side. "That's Catherine's dad, and that's… my mom." The hesitation was obvious.

Quatre looked carefully at the people in the photo. "Your mom's pretty."

"She was," Trowa said stiffly. He'd gone all tense again, the arm around Quatre like steel.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Trowa took the picture, gently this time, and set it back on the dresser. He tipped it face-down like the others. "I'm not," he said at last. He sounded defiant, but also defeated, and those conflicting sorrows made Quatre bury his face into the taller boy's shoulder, hugging him tight.

"How old were you?" It came out barely above a whisper.

"Fourteen," said Trowa. "Let's not talk about it." He pulled away slightly and ran a slow hand down Quatre's arm, his fingers just barely ghosting a caress over the brace. "What happened here?"

"I told you, it's sprained. It's nothing."

"You said it was a long story." Trowa smiled and leaned forward to bump his lips against Quatre's forehead. When he spoke, the words tickled. "And you said that you'd tell me later. What are you even doing here? How did you get out?"

Quatre started to explain, but he had to keep going back further and further, until finally he just told Trowa everything that happened since they'd last seen each other. It turned out to be a longer story that he thought, and at some point during it Trowa led them both over to sit on the bed. He kept his warm hand looped through Quatre's. He gave it a slight squeeze when Quatre faltered silent, having reached the end of his story.

"You did all that, just to see me?" Trowa asked.

Quatre nodded. "I decided the same day we met at the bookstore. I knew I just had to."

Trowa shook his head. "What about your family? What about school? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I didn't think about that. It doesn't matter." Quatre bit his lip. He felt unsure and scared all of a sudden, as if he'd been knocked sideways and dangled out over a precipice. All he had thought about was finding Trowa. He'd spared some thought about convincing Catherine, but nothing beyond that. Nothing else seemed to have mattered. Quatre lowered his eyes to their intertwined hands and traced a gaze up the length of Trowa's long scar. Nothing mattered, except finding Trowa, making sure he was okay. Keeping him that way.

"You're right," said Trowa. He shifted closer and slid his hand up the length of Quatre's arm and just underneath his shirt sleeve, thumb rubbing a circle into the bare skin. "It doesn't matter. I'll help you. We'll figure something out together."

Quatre lifted his eyes just as Trowa pressed forward and kissed him. The searing intensity of that kiss caught him off guard, and Quatre gasped against Trowa's urgent lips. The hand on his arm became a tight band as Trowa clutched at him just as desperately as Quatre often sought Sandy.

Trowa trailed a line of kisses across Quatre's jaw and then gathered him close, tugging Quatre into his lap. He nuzzled into Quatre's neck, breath hot against the skin. "Quatre…" Trowa tightened his hold as the words drifted off into another kiss.

Quatre shivered with delight. His heart beat so wildly that he felt certain it would break free of his chest and bounce across the bed. He felt equally certain that, if that happened, Trowa would reclaim it and set it carefully back in place. The thought made him feel warm all over. Quatre closed his eyes and knotted his hand into the back of Trowa's shirt. Trowa could have his heart, if he wanted it.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thanks to May for letting me borrow some of her words and always encouraging me.

Thanks to everyone for reviewing, too! I still keep thinking I'll be too busy to write, but this is one instance where I'm glad to be proven wrong. Eventually in the next few days I need to buckle down and get some serious work done, so if I go a bit without updating, that's why.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	48. Steps

LSC / 12-16-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Eight: Steps)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 48

**Steps**

* * *

When Catherine came back they were curled side by side on the sofa watching a game show on television. Trowa pulled his arm out from around Quatre's shoulders at the sound of her key in the lock, and Quatre hastily scooted sideways to put a space between them. She smiled at the sight of them, with some small note of relief crossing her face. Quatre hoped that he was not blushing so deeply as he feared.

"What are you watching?" she asked. She came over and slung her keys on top of and her purse underneath the coffee table. "He's great at trivia," she told Quatre. She threaded her fingers through the soft curls of her hair and let out a sigh. "What a long day! I hate Sundays. I'm going to go take a shower. Think about what you might want for dinner, Trowa."

Trowa sat stiff and wary, his eyes following her progress across the room and down the hall. Quatre found himself mirroring Trowa's actions, and once they both heard the shower come on he asked, very quietly, "Should I go now?"

Green eyes flashed to him with a keen sense of alarm. Trowa shook his head violently from side to side. His hand sought and found Quatre's, giving it a squeeze.

A bright smile tumbled free, and Quatre knew for certain he had to be blushing now, if he had not been before. "Okay," he said. "You know, I did promise I would buy you dinner sometime. Do you think Catherine would mind if we went out to eat? J-just the two of us," Quatre added hastily. "I did promise you a d-date."

Trowa nodded and looked away. The gesture confused Quatre for a moment, and he feared that he must have said or done something to upset him. Then, all at once, understanding flooded him, and Quatre bit back a rather silly smile. Trowa had gone shy on him.

Trowa reached for the television remote and turned up the volume on the show. The sudden awkwardness between them melted back into companionable quiet. Catherine emerged from her room barefoot but in the same sundress as before, scrunching her hair repeatedly into a soft white towel. She walked into the kitchen and then returned carrying a glass of water.

"Did you want anything, Quatre?" She was either an impeccably polite hostess or an infallibly trained waitress.

"No, thank you," he told her.

"Did you think about what you wanted to eat?" Catherine asked. She looked at the television screen. "Oh! I know this one; the answer is mycophobia."

Trowa got to his feet. He picked up Catherine's keys by the plastic dolphin charm attached to them, and then turned to look at her. He swung the keys slightly and gestured to Quatre and then himself.

Catherine's brow twitched curiously, and her eyes went between the two of them. She held out her hand. "Okay, bring them here." Trowa crossed over to her and set the keys in her hand. Catherine carefully worked free just the car keys from the ring. She pressed them into Trowa's hand. "Be very careful."

Trowa nodded.

"I want you back here before eleven. I work the breakfast shift again tomorrow. You can take your friend home first, but then come right back here. Understand?" she said. She spoke kindly, but with a firm authority bolstered by a worry she could not hide. It spilled through every word and chased patterns through her face. Trowa nodded again and closed his hand over the keys.

"Okay," said Catherine. She smiled and kissed Trowa on his cheek. "Have fun. Quatre, it was nice to meet you. Come over anytime you like."

"Thank you. I will," said Quatre. He looped a hand through the canvas tote Trowa had found for his things; it was easier to carry than the pillowcase, and less suspiciously vagabond. He offered Catherine a slight, stiff wave with his splinted hand before following Trowa outside.

"I didn't know you could drive," Quatre said as they descended the stairs.

Trowa dug a wallet out the back pocket of his jeans and offered it to him. Inside underneath the plastic protector window was his driver's license, issued the week before, with Trowa's solemn face looking out from the photo. "You look so serious," Quatre teased. "Oh, your birthday's coming up. You'll be eighteen?"

Trowa nodded and reclaimed the wallet. He unlocked and opened the passenger door first. Quatre glanced up to see Catherine watching at the window, and he waved at her again. Trowa started up the car and immediately turned off the radio, which Catherine had left blasting classic rock. She waved back with a smile and stayed at the window until, presumably, they could no longer see one another.

"I hope Duo and Zechs are okay waiting a little longer," Quatre said. He pulled rapidly at his shirt, trying to flutter together a breeze Trowa nudged at the bank of controls to roll down both front windows. The wind whipped and tousled at their hair and clothes. Trowa reached over and ran his hand through Quatre's hair, the tenderness in that touch sending a little thrill of excitement through him.

"Did you want to pick them up first?" Trowa asked. He hesitated at a stop sign, blinker set to turn left but one hand against the wheel as if to go the opposite way if Quatre decided otherwise.

Quatre shook his head. "No," he said. He left it at that. If Duo and Zechs joined them, Trowa would stop talking. He always seemed so tense around everyone else, even Duo, who Quatre knew he liked, and Catherine, who he probably loved. That just left him, the only one in nine years to know the sound of Trowa's voice. "What did you want to eat?"

"I don't care," Trowa said. "But let's get it to go. Just fast food or something."

"Oh, no, I wanted to treat you! To something nice"

They were stopped at a red light, and Trowa glanced over at him. "If you want," said Trowa reluctantly.

He'd made the exact same mistake twice in two minutes. That had to be a record. "No, of course not," Quatre hastily said. "Fast food is fine. Would Catherine mind if we ate in the car?"

Trowa gestured to the assorted litter across the floorboards, which included a few empty soda bottles and at least one grease-stained burger bag. "Guess that answers that," said Quatre. He put a hand out the window to feel the air race past.

The horizon glowed a fiery red as the sun lazily worked its way into a lingering summer sunset. When it came time to order, Quatre leaned across the driver's seat to shout into the drive-through speaker. Trowa played with his hair again, which proved so much of a distraction that Quatre accidentally agreed to make both their meals into combos. He tried to pay, but Trowa waved him away and took care of it. Trowa tossed an empty soda can and an equally empty coffee, with lipstick stained around the lid, out of the cup holder to make room for the drinks.

"Well, now I still owe you dinner," Quatre said, with a mocking sort of pout.

"What else do I have to spend my money on?" Trowa said.

"Do you work at the diner, too?"

Trowa shrugged as he palmed the wheel out into a wide turn, swinging the car across several lanes of traffic and up a highway ramp. "I think Catherine's boss just pays me as a favor. I don't really work there."

"Do you like it?"

"Sure. I don't have much else to do." Trowa rolled up the windows and switched them over to air conditioning as he picked up speed on the highway.

Quatre didn't know where they were going, nor did he care. The city dropped off rapidly behind them and the sun sunk lower and lower across the sky, until they finally pulled off the highway into a dusky purple twilight. Once they reached a slower speed along a dimly lit back road, Trowa turned off the air and rolled the windows back down. They stopped in the parking lot of an abandoned industrial warehouse and ate in the car underneath a single flickering light pole.

Once they were finished eating, Trowa turned the key over and spun through the radio stations. He found an oldies station and turned the volume up, to the point that Quatre shot him a curious look. Trowa got out of the car and left his door open. He came around to the passenger side and swung the door open, and then offered Quatre his hand.

Quatre laughed. "What are you doing?" he asked. Trowa tugged him from the seat and up against him. His green eyes were dark and intense, so serious and deep that Quatre stopped smiling and instead felt a flutter of nerves. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Trowa stepped back from the car and gently pulled Quatre along.

Trowa pressed him close and began to sway them in time with the music. Quatre bit his lip around smile. His heart raced again, but this time he felt ready for the burst of nervousness and giddy excitement. He rested his head against the curve of the taller boy's shoulder and, after a moment, felt Trowa's lips against his hair.

Neither one of them proved to be a graceful dancer. Trowa moved easily in time with the music, but with a stiffness that suggested he had very little experience and knew not much more than a slow-paced sway. Quatre stepped over his feet at several points, and blushed heatedly at each instance, but whenever he lifted his face to apologize, Trowa kissed him.

One song ended, and then another, and they stood wrapped in an embrace and still swaying through the commercials. Trowa backed them toward the car and, before the next song could start, pulled the keys from the ignition. He tossed them on top of the dashboard, and then turned to take Quatre's hands in his own. Trowa rubbed his thumb over the knuckles in a slow, methodical pattern. Something flowed out from that touch and rose up between them, unspoken and unknown, and Quatre felt a silence fall over him like a heavy blanket.

Trowa rose up out of the car, a tall shadow over him, and Quatre tilted his face up expectantly. Lips found his, Quatre closed his eyes, and went along with the gentle hands that moved him forward and down and over and across. He felt the upholstery of the backseat against his elbows and shifted willingly to accommodate Trowa's weight above him. The spacing was awkward, the car being quite small, but it over forced them ever closer, to the point that Quatre wasn't sure where he ended and Trowa began.

"Quatre," murmured Trowa, over and over again. He trailed kisses over his neck, across flushed cheeks, and into the soft expanse behind Quatre's ear. His hand moved, urgent and eager, beneath Quatre's shirt. Warm skin met even warmer skin, and Quatre opened his mouth in a gasp at the sensation. Trowa took it as an invitation, his tongue sliding forward to deepen the kiss.

A knee nudged against his, forcing Quatre's legs apart. The hand under his shirt slipped low and fumbled across the closure of his jeans, and Quatre tried to pull away but was pinned beneath Trowa. He felt breathless and dizzy and unsure, but Trowa was moving quickly now, with a frenetic insistence, all hot hands and heated kisses and pressure.

"Trowa," he said, turning his face away. It came out as a plea, airy and trembling, and Trowa's hips rocked against his in response. "No, Trowa, wait. Please."

Trowa buried his face into the crook of Quatre's neck. "What?" he whispered.

"I… I don't know. I'm sorry."

A stillness gripped Trowa, so sudden and abrupt that Quatre could feel the wave of it shudder over him. Trowa's hand found his hair and played against it for a moment. He tilted Quatre's head so they could look at each other, blue eyes against green. "Okay," said Trowa. His fingers ran in a caress down the side of Quatre's face. He shifted on to his side and pulled Quatre into a tangle against him. "It's okay," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said again.

"No. Don't be."

Pressed close as he was, Quatre could hear Trowa's heartbeat, or maybe his own, they seemed entwined together and likewise inseparable. The silence between them, awkward at first, melted into comforting warmth, and Quatre closed his eyes to savor every little sensation. Trowa ran a hand over his back in small circles.

From the emptiness outside the car, outside the puddle of the yellow light, a symphony of insects rose up in a cacophony. It was a sound he'd not heard at the hospital, due to the ever-present hum of the air conditioning and the thick, windowless walls. It lulled at him, soothed him, and Quatre must have drifted off to some place between sleep and wake. He heard Trowa whisper his name, once in a question, and then again in a voice husky with emotion. Trowa's arms tightened around him, and then his lips ghosted a kiss over Quatre's closed lashes.

Quatre truly fell asleep then, because he unexpectedly awoke to find the car in motion and street lights cycling past. "Oh," he said, sitting up out of his slouched position against the passenger door.

"It's late. Catherine will worry if I don't return soon." Trowa said, with a note of apology.

"Oh," said Quatre again. He searched for and found Sandy amid his possessions, brushing his fingers briefly over the fur of the bear's belly. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Trowa glanced at him.

"I don't know."

Trowa checked the light, checked his mirrors, and then leaned across to grace a kiss on Quatre's cheek. "Stop apologizing," he said, with such utter tender kindness that Quatre had to look away to the window or be lost. Trowa frowned and redirected his attention to the road. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Quatre lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the place where Trowa had kissed him. He felt the blush rise and settle. "Okay," he mumbled.

Trowa brought them to a halt at the far edge of a parking lot, in front of a dark and empty office building. He turned the car off and then sat there, staring at the dark dashboard."Hey," he said, and then gripped the steering wheel until the plastic protested and his knuckles turned white. "Are you mad…? Did I upset you, earlier?" he asked.

"No!" Quatre rushed to say. "No, I..." he started to apologize and then fell silent.

Trowa kept his eyes on his hands, tense and awkward in a way that made Quatre uneasy. "It's okay if you don't," Trowa said. "It's okay. I understand. I never asked how you felt about it. We don't have to be anything more than friends."

He sounded so alone and miserable, so tender and cautious, that an impulsive urge gripped Quatre and shook away his shyness. Quatre unbuckled his seat belt and all but threw himself across the car to grab hold of Trowa. The kiss he gave was earnest, awkward due to their position, but a silent and insistent answer.

"I don't want that," Quatre said quietly. He refrained from yet another apology. Trowa looked unconvinced, still wary and stiff, and the desolation in his eyes prompted a rush of words to spill out of him. "I like you. I told you, I like you. It's just, I don't know," Quatre puffed out a frustrated sigh.

"It's okay." Trowa brushed Quatre's bangs to one side and cupped his hand there against his cheek. "We'll go slow then."

Quatre nodded, tilting his head into the touch. They got out of the car and started walking toward the opposite street corner, where a convenience store and a cafe flanked each other. Quatre hurried his stride to match Trowa's and slipped a hand into his. Trowa glanced down at him, smiled, and only released his hand when it came time to open the cafe door. A little bell chimed out as Trowa held the door open for him.

Teens and young adults crowded the dim little shop. Over in one corner a man played the guitar while a blue-haired woman in a bright red dress sang a slow, crooning melody over the sound of espresso machines. A frenzied, mostly abstract black and white mural covered the wall behind the musicians. Trowa took his hand again as they wove through the crowd in search of Duo and Zechs.

Duo spotted them first, his voice rising above the music, machines, and conversation. The two sat side by side on a black leather love seat, and Zechs tossed a battered paperback into the cushion as he stood. Quatre reluctantly released Trowa's hand.

"There you are!" Duo shouted. "Let's blow out. This chick's been singing for two hours, and I'm not keen on bleeding heart country music."

They moved back through the crowd and outside. Duo tossed his braid free of his hat and stretched both arms up toward the night sky. He'd transferred his stuff into a paper bag from a grocery store at some point, and it dangled off one elbow. "Man! I'm bushwhacked. You know a cheap hotel nearby, Trowa? Wait, rewind, back it up, hold the phone. What're you doing here, Trowa? You running from Catherine?"

Trowa shook his head at the same time Quatre said, "No, Duo, of course not. He's just borrow Catherine's car is all."

"Car?" Duo repeated. They reached the green sedan in question, and Duo let out a low, long whistle. "When'd you get wheels, Tro? Shotgun!" he cried. Trowa ignored him and unlocked the door for Quatre, physically blocking Duo with his elbow.

"Whaaaat? No fair." Duo climbed into the back with Zechs, and there was the sound of them both shoving debris to the floor. "When'd you learn to drive? You do know how to drive, right? Because I could take a stab at it. I bet the basics are pretty intuitive. Gas to go, brake to stop, wheel to turn, yadda yadda."

"He has his license," Quatre said.

"Fancy," said Duo.

Trowa shot him a look, and Quatre had to bite his lip or risk a sudden burst of laughter. He drove them a short distance to a brightly lit motel that advertised "free able," the C having fallen off some time ago.

"This looks too classy. You got anything with dead hookers in the dumpster out back, or maybe some crime scene tape over a few of the rooms? We're on a tight budget."

"This is fine, Trowa. Thanks," said Quatre.

Trowa shifted in his seat and pulled out his wallet. He started to count out some cash, but Quatre hurriedly protested, "No, no, it's okay. Don't."

Duo leaned forward. "Donations accepted back here, no problem. We aren't all stuffed to the gills with green like Quatre. Oh, that reminds me, we spent some of what you gave us on dinner and then lattes, so the baristas wouldn't rebel and kick us to the curb for loitering. And I bought toothpaste. And Zechs bought a candy bar. I told him it would ruin his appetite for supper, but he didn't listen."

Zechs rolled his eyes and got of the car. "I'll go get us a room."

"That's fine," Quatre said quickly. Trowa was giving him an inquisitive look, equal parts puzzled and concerned, and Quatre didn't really want to explain. "You should go, before Catherine gets worried," he said.

"Ohhh, this suddenly got awkward. I'll get out of the way of your mushy heart goodbyes. Ignore me!" Duo jumped out and took off across the parking lot.

"When can I see you again?" Quatre asked. "I mean, if you want to. If you're not busy."

Trowa smiled and leaned over as if to kiss him. Quatre turned eagerly, head tilting into the right angle, but Trowa ducked sideways at the last second. His breath tickled across Quatre's ear as he whispered, "Soon. Catherine might not let me go off by myself while she's at work, but I'll see."

Quatre leaned into the false embrace. He glanced sideways to find Duo watching them from a distance, and he shifted to better conceal Trowa and make it look like they were engaged in an impassioned farewell. "I'll come to the diner again, if you're not here by check-out."

Trowa nodded against him, and then he drew back and really did kiss him. Quatre smiled and wrapped a hand around the loops of his tote bag. "Goodnight, Trowa. Thanks for the ride."

Quatre expected a thorough teasing from Duo, but the other boy just asked him, "Did you have fun?" and then grinned when Quatre nodded. Duo twirled the end of his braid over his face, tickling the hair across his nose and lips. He seemed distant and thoughtful, and Quatre felt an aching suspicion he knew why. Before he could ask, however, Zechs returned with the room key.

They fell into the same arrangement as before, with Duo and Quatre sharing a bed and Zechs getting his own. Duo tried to keep up a conversation after they'd turned the lights out and crawled between the sheets, but soon even his voice grew drowsy and tumbled into silence. Quatre lay awake and stared up into the darkness, unable to sleep, full of thoughts both confusing and comforting, and all of them about Trowa.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I keep threatening it, but now I really have to insist that the next chapter will be delayed. I'm frantically busy this weekend, and on Monday I'm leaving town. Did I mention that, during my hiatus, I moved across the country? Well, I did, and now I have to fly back for Christmas. So it very well may be January before I'm able to get the next chapter posted. Fingers crossed it won't take that long, but it's a definite possibility.

Thanks for reading!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	49. Consequences

LSC / 12-18-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Forty-Nine: Consequences)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 49

**Consequences  
**

* * *

Quatre made everyone drag their feet until check out, to the point that housekeeping came by to insist they vacate. He hadn't much hope that Trowa would come see him that early in the day, since Catherine worked, but nevertheless felt disappointed. He suggested they all eat lunch at the diner, that he could introduce them as friends of his here in town, but Duo remained wary.

"Catherine came twice a week for family therapy and on weekends to visit whenever she could for the whole, what, seven months that Trowa was there. I was usually floating around near him. There's a pretty damn good chance she'll recognize me."

And Quatre looked so disappointed, he knew that he must, that Duo relented. "All right, tiger, whatever you want. If she gets wise, though, I'll flip the table over and you make a run for it."

On the bus ride over to the diner, Quatre filled the two of them in on the skeletal backstory he and Trowa had invented. Zechs supplied the name of a local high school they could all pretend to be enrolled in for the fall, if Catherine should ask, and Duo tried to create an elaborate story involving summer camp that leaned more toward a horror movie plot than a realistic explanation. Quatre nixed it in favor of something simple, like Zechs's suggestion that they met at a part-time job over the summer.

Catherine ended up being almost out the door when they arrived, having started her shift at five that morning, and she seemed a little frazzled. She glanced over Duo and Zechs without seeing them, apologized to Quatre, and then fled through the kitchens before anyone could ask her help with the lunch crowd. Quatre slumped in the booth, deflated, but only until Trowa came looking for him.

Using a series of small gestures, Trowa conveyed that Catherine was going to home to nap, and that he'd return with the car before long. Quatre brightened considerably at the news. Duo just seemed relieved to have escaped Catherine's notice, and then reacted with considerable enthusiasm when the dessert special turned out to be rhubarb pie.

"I don't even know what a rhubarb is," Zechs said.

"Sure, it's like…" Duo frowned. He ate a bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully."It's rhubarb, and it goes into pie, and it's delicious."

"But what is it? What does a rhubarb look like?"

"It looks like pie."

"But before it becomes pie."

"It looks like something that could become pie, if given the chance."

Zechs ended up ordering a slice of rhubarb pie as well and, when he turned out to dislike it, offered it to Quatre instead.

"Rhubarb is a plant. It looks a little like red celery. At least, I think so," Quatre said. He scraped the last smears of pinkish filling from the plate and smashed the tines of his fork over the pastry flakes to collect them.

"How do you know that?" Duo demanded. "No one knows what the fuck rhubarb looks like. I'm pretty sure it grows in the ground in pie form. You just harvest pie straight out the ground. Brush a little of the dirt off and, bam, dessert. I mean, what grocery store ever has rhubarb sitting around? Ever seen canned rhubarb? No. You just see rhubarb pie, and it is delicious. Oh, here's Trowa," Duo said. He got up and switched sides of the booth so Trowa could slide in next to Quatre.

"Hi," said Quatre. Trowa's knee nudged up against his in reply.

Trowa indicated that he only had the car for the afternoon, and after some small debate they settled on catching a movie matinee. "Something with a ton of sex and violence," Duo enthused. "I'm sick to death of family-friendly crap."

Trowa drove them to a nearby theater and paid for the tickets, over Quatre's soft insistence, to a movie that Duo picked out based solely on the poster and title, which featured a busty young woman repelling off the side of an exploding building. Quatre bought Duo a large popcorn with extra butter, and then they filed into the dark theater to find seats.

Due to it being Labor Day, and the movie apparently a popular one, the only four seats together ended up being in the very back of the theater. They all sat down, and then reshuffled so Quatre, the shortest, wouldn't end up seated directly behind someone. The order ended up being Zechs, Duo, Trowa, and then Quatre on the aisle seat.

When the previews ended, Quatre dug Sandy out of his things and settled the bear up against his side in the seat. The theater being so dark, and their seats being in the back, no one would notice. Trowa shifted closer, right up against the armrest between them, and draped his arm over Quatre's shoulder. On the other side of Trowa, Duo and Zechs engaged in a brief, silent struggle over the popcorn.

Midway through the movie, just when the femme fatale took off her shirt, earning a short cheer from Duo, Quatre felt a growing tightness in his chest. He stirred underneath Trowa's arm, which suddenly was too warm and too tight around him. Without taking his eyes from the screen, Trowa shifted his arm away and stretched out some in his seat, his long legs tangling into Quatre's tote bag.

Quatre rose shakily from his seat. The theater was much too warm. Trowa looked over at him, curious, but Quatre tried to make some dismissive gesture as he left. He just needed to get some fresh air for a second. By the time he found the emergency exit and stepped outside into the parking lot, Quatre recognized what was happening. It didn't make him feel any better. He sat uneasily on the curb and hugged his arms around his middle. His chest hurt, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath, no matter how frantically he gasped air.

Quatre squeezed his eyes shut against a blinding sense of vertigo. _You're fine_, he tried to reassure himself. _It'll be over soon_. He set a sweat-slicked forehead against his knees and struggled to stay calm against the harsh, overwhelming fury of panic that filled him. He curled his fingers around thin air, and realized he'd left Sandy back in the theater. Hot tears sprung forth as he curled tighter around himself.

Eventually the attack lifted, leaving him feeling weak and shaken, wrung and drained out like a dish towel. Quatre got unsteadily to his feet. The emergency door had locked behind him, so he was forced to walk all the way around to the front and re-enter that way. He found the crumpled ticket stub amid the lint in his front pocket and showed it to the usher.

The boy who looked back at him in the bathroom mirror was going to have a hard time convincing people he was okay. Quatre's bangs stuck messily to the sheen of sweat across his pale forehead, and his eyes had a pinched, anxious sort of look to them. He ran cold water into the sink and carefully washed his face, and then reevaluated his appearance. It would have to do.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, Quatre picked his way to the back of the theater and took his seat again. He went immediately for Sandy and clutched the bear up underneath his chin, teeth finding and latching on to the bear's ear. Trowa leaned over, features sharp with worry, and ran a gentle hand over Quatre's arm. Quatre shook his head, a slight gesture at first, and then with a firm and frantic insistence when Trowa kept giving him that curious and concerned look.

Duo leaned over as well, whispering at them to get a room. Trowa waved him off, annoyed, and then reverted his attention to Quatre. Trowa touched lightly at Quatre's forehead, feeling the freshly damp hair and cool skin, and traced a line down the boy's cheek.

Quatre jerked away and rearranged himself in the seat to put as much distance between them as he could. "Stop it," he hissed "I'm fine."

Trowa pulled away, startled, and exchanged a look with Duo. Quatre fixed his eyes firmly on the screen, as if by sheer will alone he could get them all to stop looking at him and watch the movie. He felt his ears burn as a blush of embarrassment rose and settled into place.

He had a hard time following the rest of the movie. Quatre felt much too aware of every small glance Trowa sent his way. He debated for a moment fleeing out before the end credits, but quickly dismissed the idea as a foolish one. Quatre hastily shoved Sandy back into his tote bag before the theater lights came up over the credits.

No one said anything to him as they left. Duo argued the finer points of the plot with Zechs on the way out, and Quatre dragged his feet so he trailed after them, hoping to remain unseen. Trowa likewise delayed, trying to draw even with Quatre, to the point that the two of them drifted further and further back into the crowd trickling out of the theater. Quatre abruptly changed tactics and squeezed between two strollers in order to catch up with Duo and Zechs. He planted himself right up next to Duo's side, using the boy as a shield against Trowa's worry.

The plan worked, as Duo needed very little prompting to continue his diatribe against film cinematography, and when he called "Shotgun!" in the parking lot, Quatre hurried climbed into the back before Trowa could object. He slouched in his seat and rubbed uneasily at his chest, which still had a lingering pain, and watched out the window as Trowa drove.

When Duo paused for breath between one thought and another, Zechs spoke up. "You should think about something more permanent than hotels, or you'll blow through all Quatre's savings. I know where to find a cheap flophouse. Turn right at the next light, Trowa."

"What?" said Duo. "Oh, yeah, I guess you're from around here. What do you think, Quatre?"

He nodded, not really having understood the question.

Zechs leaned between the seats and continued to give Trowa directions. They passed under the shadow of the downtown skyscrapers and into a rough-looking neighborhood dominated by crumbling warehouses and boarded-up businesses.

"Well, this looks cheery. Great place to raise the kids," Duo remarked dryly.

"It's cheap," Zechs countered. "Not this stop sign, the next one, turn left."

A few streets over were mostly residential buildings all strung together and derelict. A group of boys in hooded sweatshirts, despite the heat, sat along the front steps of a gas station. Some girls in shorts and tank tops walked past, and the two groups shouted crude insults playfully at each other. Zechs told Trowa to park in front of a brick building. The overgrown courtyard out front was separated from the street by an iron gate half-off its rusted hinges. The chipped paint on the sign out front read Overlook Apartments.

"They charge by the head, so Duo and I will go in and get a set of beds for the night. They're not going to care how old we aren't. You wait out here with Trowa," he told Quatre. "Later you can sneak up the back. If you shove two beds together it's plenty big across for three or four people. I've done it before to save money."

"Clever," said Duo. "Sound okay?"

Quatre hesitated, not wanting to be alone with Trowa, but that would seem strange, so he instead just nodded. The two of them disappeared past the gate and into the building.

Trowa turned around in his seat, one elbow on the console for balance as he reached over to touch Quatre's knee. Quatre averted his head, ignoring the persistent question on Trowa's face. Trowa gripped his leg and, when that failed to draw Quatre's attention, shook it.

Quatre ignored him, cruelly using Trowa's silence to his own advantage. Trowa withdrew for a moment, and Quatre heard him sigh. He'd won, but he didn't feel good about it. He, in fact, felt absolutely miserable. His chest still felt tight, and he was vaguely dizzy, and his palms itched with perspiration as he knotted them into his shirt.

Trowa called his bluff, then, by getting out of the car and coming around to the backseat. Quatre reached a quick out, thinking to lock the door, which seemed stupid since Trowa had the keys. Trowa jerked the door open before he could, however, and unbuckled Quatre's seat belt. He sat, using a firm hip to slide Quatre sideways.

Quatre got his hands up between them as Trowa reached, and he fought off the embrace. "Stop it!" he cried at last, breaking his own stubborn silence. His splinted wrist caught Trowa's shoulder at a bad angle, and he let out a hiss of pain.

Trowa flinched back. He glanced quickly to the building, checking to make sure Duo and Zechs had not returned, and then said, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm _fine_." Quatre gritted his teeth and slid over to the other seat to escape Trowa.

Trowa started to say something else, but caught sight of movement in the courtyard and fell silent. He got out of the car and, after seeing Duo returning, Quatre followed suit. Trowa jangled the car keys to get Duo's attention and then jerked his head behind him, toward the tall downtown buildings.

"You gotta get going?" Duo asked. Quatre wasn't looking at Trowa, so he missed the boy's reply, which was most likely a nod because Duo followed up with, "Fair enough. Thanks for the ride and all. Catch you later? What's your schedule like?" Another pause for Trowa's response. "Cool, we'll give you a call or whatever."

Duo led him around the back of the building. Quatre didn't look back to check, but he felt Trowa's eyes on him. He hunched his shoulders and edged closer to Duo. "Hey, kiddo," he said, putting a sudden arm around him. "You two have a fight?"

Quatre shook his head and pulled away. Duo let him go without a fuss. "I'll kick Trowa's ass if I got to, no sweat. He might have height on me, but I fight dirty."

That made Quatre smile as he shook his head again. Duo returned with a grin and reached out for him again, tousling a hand through Quatre's hand. "Glad to hear. I don't know if you were paying attention, but I think Trowa was trying to say that Catherine has the day off tomorrow. If you want, I bet he'd be able to get the car from her again."

Quatre followed him up a back set of narrow stairs. At the second floor landing, Quatre gripped the handrail against a sudden rush of dizziness. He felt a terrible compulsion to glance down, between the railings, to see the far and distant ground. He swallowed back a coppery taste and forced himself to keep moving, eyes locked on the gentle sway of Duo's braid back and forth across his back.

The door frame to their room had shattered wood along one side and a busted dead bolt, as if it'd been kicked open at some point and forgotten. The beds turned out to be twin metal-framed beds with puke-green sheets, of dubious cleanliness, and a mysterious stain across one corner. Zechs laughed at the stunned look on Quatre's face. "Let me guess," he said. "You thought being a runaway street kid would be easier?"

Quatre shook his head, at once defensive, and Duo shot Zechs a hard look that said, very clearly, _Shut up_. Duo and Zechs pushed the beds together with a high squeal of protest from the beds themselves as the metal legs scraped across the cement floor. "We can ditch and find a moderately shitty hotel instead," Duo offered. "It's your money, Quatre. Woe be to me to tell you how to spend it."

Quatre shook his head again. He had been prepared to sleep in an alley, if he had to; he'd run through all different possibilities in his head while still at the hospital. Quatre remembered the stricken look on Trowa's face and felt a deep cut of remorse. A heavy sadness draped over him like a wet blanket, clinging to his skin and seeping into his bones.

Filthy plastic sheeting served as a curtain, and Zechs flipped back the edge to look out at the street. He seemed oddly nervous, as if expecting to see something unpleasant. After a moment he let the plastic fall.

Duo rummaged through his stuff and pulled out a battered deck of cards. "Swiped them from that cafe," he explained to Quatre. He pulled out the deck and began to shuffle.

"I don't want to play," Quatre said quietly. "You go ahead."

"You sure?

Quatre nodded and curled up with Sandy at the very far edge of the bed. Duo and Zechs sat at the opposite and doled out cards for a game of War. Quatre propped himself up on one elbow to watch, but after a while became groggy and laid his head down instead. He rolled to face the wall and buried his face into Sandy to block out the much-too-bright light.

"Quatre? Want us to leave for a bit?" Duo asked. He dropped his voice to a whisper, "He must have fallen asleep. Your deal, and don't cheat this time."

"Why do you always think I'm cheating? I'm just better at this than you."

"This is like fifty percent the cards you're dealt, therefore, I suspect that you cheat. You always win when you deal."

"Then you deal," Zechs griped, in the same hushed, barely-there tone that Duo used. Quatre let the words flow over him, distant and unreal, and he fell into a drowsy sort of half-sleep. His own erratic heartbeat wrestled with a faint ringing sound for his ears' attention, and Quatre felt exhausted just by existing. A small tendril of worry unfurled itself deep within and blossomed as his thoughts flitted dangerously from bad to worse.

Duo shook him awake sometime later, when it was dark outside and dim inside their room, and tried to convince him that eating junk from the gas station around the corner was a good idea. Quatre disagreed, and went to lie back down, but Duo caught his arm and teased him about watching his figure to impress Trowa. Little pinpricks of regret and sorrow worked their way across his shoulders in a sudden shiver at the thought of Trowa, and his face when Quatre pushed him away.

Rather than watch Duo's eyes fill with worry, Quatre ate dinner. Afterward Duo tried to rope him into another game of cards, but Quatre instead found the shared bathroom on their floor and brushed his teeth for bed. When he came back to the room, Duo and Zechs broke off from whatever whispered conversation they'd been having. Quatre assumed it must have been about him, but he ignored that.

He heard them whispering again, much later, when he lying so still and quiet they must have assumed he was sleeping. "I don't know, maybe he did have a fight with Trowa."

"How can you fight with a guy who doesn't speak?" Zechs whispered back.

The bed shifted and squeaked. Quatre felt Duo edge up against his back, not near enough to touch him, but nevertheless a warm and unwelcomed presence. "Fuck, I got the crack in the beds trying to get up all in my face," Duo said.

"Switch me, then. I don't care."

"No way, you might decide to molest Quatre in the middle of the night."

"What? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you're gay and he's adorable, duh."

The words glinted out of Zechs like broken glass. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"Christ on toast, Milly, take a joke. I don't seriously think you're going to put the gay slut moves on Quatre."

"Stop saying that."

"What? That you're gay? Are we seriously having this conversation?"

Zechs said nothing.

"Now that I think about it, you punched Wufei for saying about the same thing. Geez, Milly—"

"Shut up!"

"Shhhhhh" Duo hissed. "You'll wake Quatre. Fine, whatever, fuck you, too."

Time passed like a nightmare. Sometimes his eyes were open, other times he had them closed, and confusing thoughts chased around and around in his head with such force that he grew dizzy trying to track them. Quatre grew scared at times and nearly cried out for Duo, but in other moments he drifted away and nothing felt real, not the shivers that gripped him nor the mad skip and stop of his heart. A soft snoring rose up from the middle of the bed, and then Duo shifted around on to his side and fell silent. At some point in the night Zechs got up, left for a moment, and returned with shuffling steps in the dark room.

By the time hazy dawn light started defining some of the shadowy corners of the room, Quatre knew something had to be wrong with him. After a long and drawn out debate with himself, Quatre slipped out from underneath the blanket. The ground moved sideways when he tried to stand, but he wavered an unsteady path to the door anyway. He clung to the splintered doorframe for a minute, the rough edges of the wood biting into the soft skin of his palms.

He pushed off the anchor of the door and stumbled roughly into the opposite wall. It felt like trying to move across the decks of a heaving ship. Quatre's bare feet avoided a broken beer bottle lying forgotten in the hall on his way to the bathroom. A rising since of urgency drove him the last few feet, as he now knew with absolute certainty he was going to be sick. He fell across the toilet and retched until his stomach clenched painfully and refused to empty further.

He wiped at his mouth with a shaking hand and slid down to the floor. The tile felt cool against his cheek. He tried to get back up, but his limbs felt stiff and unresponsive. Quatre decided he would lay there and rest, just for a minute, and then return to bed. Just as soon as the room stopped spinning, and he caught his breath.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Okay, there's a small chance I can get the next chapter done tonight. I'm going to post this and go immediately back to work.

snowdragon – You work at the post office? I feel your pain. I work in retail, and this time of year is a killer. Keep fighting the good fight and thanks for reviewing!

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	50. Rush

LSC / 12-18-11  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty: Rush)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 50

**Rush**

* * *

Duo rolled awake and kept rolling, right to the edge of the bed, and he had to make a fast grab for balance or end up dumped on the floor. He really woke up, then, and sat stark upright. At the far end of the bed was the lump of Zechs sleeping. Duo shifted out from on top of a soft bulge in the sheets and found Quatre's teddy bear. Sandy's dark plastic eyes were innocent of his owner's whereabouts, and that worried Duo.

He stepped out into the hall. It wouldn't do for Quatre to be wandering by himself. When Duo'd gone to the gas station to get dinner, he'd seen some sketchy-looking teens shooting up in the stairwell. That reminded him to check the floor for syringes, because a needle in his bare foot was not on his list of ways to start the morning. He edged around a puddle of shattered green glass and called, loud as he dared, "Quatre?" into the empty hallway.

A man in a flannel shirt and a serious case of body odor came out from a room and gave Duo a grunted but friendly enough "'Morning" before going into the bathroom. "What the fuck?" the man said, hand frozen over the fly of his pants.

Duo stepped around the guy to look, and felt his stomach drop. He shouldered into the bathroom and gave the man a rough shove. "Get out of here."

"I gotta take a piss," the man protested.

"Piss yourself," Duo sneered. He was a good foot shorter and half the guy's weight, but he fought dirty. He'd win if he had to. Fortunately the guy just turned and went to stand in the corner of the hall, his intentions clear.

Duo dropped to his knees and gently set the back of hand to Quatre's cheek. "Hey, Earth to Quatre," he called. Despite the sheen of sweat across the boy's forehead, Quatre's skin felt cold to the touch. Duo shook the thin shoulders until Quatre's throat worked through a swallow and his eyes moved restlessly behind pale, closed lids. "Quatre, Sleeping Beauty, come on. Wake the fuck up, kiddo."

Quatre's eyes opened and drifted lazily on to Duo's face. Duo recoiled at the sight of sea green eyes gone almost entirely to pupil. Quatre shivered and moved as if to get up off the floor. Duo quickly got an arm around the small blonde's shoulders and helped him at least sit up.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Quatre gave a stiff and wooden nod. Duo tried a few times to help him get to his feet, but Quatre clung at him like a drunk and they both got tangled up and fell back to the floor.

Duo tucked his arm under Quatre's knee and staggered upright. "Oh, Christ, I thought you'd weigh less," he chuckled despite the gravity of the situation. Quatre huddled against him, shivering, and curled a hand into the fabric of Duo's shirt. It had the effect of wiping the grin from Duo's face.

When he got back to the room, Zechs was up and using Duo's hairbrush on his long hair. Normally that would make Duo ready to fight, but now he didn't really give a fuck. Zechs got to his feet when he saw them. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Duo shook his head in reply and set Quatre down on the bed. "Is that bottle of water still by my bag?"

"Sure," Zechs picked it up and shook around the last swallow. "Not much left. Want me to refill it?"

"From the bathroom sink? You'd give us all leprosy or something gross. Forget it." Duo took it from him and offered the water to Quatre, who turned his head away. Duo felt again at his forehead; no fever, at least. He took Quatre's chin in his hand and tilted the boy's face toward the light.

Zechs stuck his hands into his pockets. "Look at those eyes," he said softly. "He's not the sort to OD, is he? No secret drug habit?"

"Shut up," Duo snapped. "Kid's sick is all."

"With what?" Zechs demanded.

As if to prove Duo wrong and Zechs right, Quatre's eyes rolled back into his head as a tremor rattled through his small form. It didn't last long, but the sight sent chills through Duo, and Quatre went limp afterward, clearly unconscious.

"Fuck," said Duo. "Fuck, fuck. Fuck!" He dug his nails into his thighs and struggled to take a deep breath around a sudden chest-full of panic. "Okay. I'll take him to the hospital."

"What!" Zechs's voice was all raw nerves. Not that Duo blamed him; he felt quite similar. "How the hell are you going to explain this? You'll get caught for sure."

"Yeah, I will. Don't worry, I won't mention you." Duo rose up off the bed and hastily started throwing his things together.

Zechs remained standing, arms crossed over his chest. "How are you going to get there?"

Duo found Quatre's jeans, folded neatly on top of his tote bag, and dug around in the back pockets until he found the envelope of money. With a silent apology to Quatre, got dressed and stuffed it into his own pocket. "I'll take a cab. What's the worst the driver can do, call the cops? I'm already on a suicide mission here."

"What about Quatre?"

"What the fuck about Quatre?" Duo demanded.

"He did all this planning and came so far. What if he's fine, and you overrea—"

"Do not finish that sentence with 'overreact,' Milliard Peacecraft. Don't you fucking dare."

Zechs held up both hands as if warding off a physical blow. "All right. But I know a doctor who won't ask any questions. Something to think about."

Duo glanced at Quatre, pale and quivering, and then to Zechs. "Go on."

Zechs shrugged. "He mostly writes bogus prescriptions for uppers or downers, or whatever your poison, but I've seen him stitch a wound and heard he took out a bullet once."

"I'm not taking Quatre to your goddamn drug dealer."

"He's a real doctor," Zechs protested. "Trant doped himself into a fit just like this, and Doc set him to straights. He's just got a bad gambling habit and needs the extra cash, that's why he'll do anything and not ask questions."

Duo mulled his options. As he hesitated, Zechs crossed to the window and squinted out at the bright midmorning sun. "And I know how we can get him there without anyone noticing," Zechs said.

"How?" Duo demanded. "A fucking teleporter?"

"No, Trowa. His car's out front."

"Fine. Fuck. I don't know."

Duo managed to get Quatre awake again. He tried to explain their options, but Quatre just gave him a glassy-eyed sort of stare and nodded. "Maybe I'll let Trowa decide," he muttered. "Okay, Quatre, try getting up. I can't carry you down three flights of stairs."

Between the two of them, Duo and Zechs got Quatre into his shoes and up on his feet. Duo put Quatre's arm over his shoulder and maneuvered the boy down the hall. The going was slow and awkward, especially at first, but Quatre's steps became a bit surer once they cleared the second floor landing. He stumbled at the very bottom, and would have collapsed completely if not for Duo's quick reflexes.

"All right, not much further," Duo said. He tried to steady Quatre, who just shook his head and kept trying to sag bonelessly to the floor. "Yes, yes," urged Duo. "Go get Trowa," he said over his shoulder to Zechs. "Hurry."

"Quatre, you have to stay awake, okay?" Duo grabbed the boy around the waist and held him upright against him.

Whatever Zechs had told Trowa, it must not have been very detailed, because Trowa went shock-still in the doorway at the sight of them. Duo hefted Quatre's weight again, trying to keep him from falling to the floor. With wide eyes, Trowa flew over to take Quatre from him. He hoisted the small blonde easily into his arms.

"Right," said Duo. "I don't know. Two options, Tro. Listen carefully. Option one, straight up emergency room time. Option two, Zechs knows a doctor who won't ask questions. If you take him to the ER, I'm out. No reason for us all to get caught. You got the rubber stamp of sanity on your file, no risk to you for taking him. But, that's the catch; they'll take Quatre back to Hel.'"

Trowa took off walking toward the car with Quatre held close to his chest. Duo hurried to keep pace. "Option two," he continued. "The doctor Zechs knows. I don't know what's wrong with him, might just be, fuck, I don't know, bad clams or something. We could all be panicking for no reason."

Zechs stood waiting by the car. "What'd you decide?" he asked Duo.

Duo looked at Trowa, who stared back at him. "Your call," Duo said. "I'm out."

Trowa nodded and shifted his gaze meaningfully to Zechs.

"Okay," said Duo. "Zechs, you ride up front and navigate. Trowa, you drive, obviously. I'll ride in the back with Quatre."

Duo climbed in and helped Trowa get Quatre arranged across the back, with his head pillowed on Duo's lap. Trowa's fingers lingered on the boy's blonde hair, brushing his bangs free of a sweat-slicked forehead. "He'll be okay," Duo said. "I mean, he's okay."

Neither of them seemed very convinced by it, and Trowa got behind the wheel. "It's Tuesday," Zechs said. "Doc'll probably be at his office downtown. There's a back entrance to the building we can use."

Duo watched out the window for a second, distracted by a neon pink section of graffiti, but the smallest of movements drew his attention back to Quatre. His pale lashes fluttered for a second and then his eyes opened, the pupils still huge, but gradually they focused. "Duo?" he said, in a very small and fragile way.

"Yeah."

Quatre's brows drew together. "I don't feel good."

"Yeah. That's okay. We're taking you to a doctor."

"But I'm at a hospital already," Quatre protested softly.

"Red light, red light, red light!" Zechs cried. Trowa tore his eyes from the rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes.

Duo tightened his arms around Quatre to keep the boy from sliding off the seat as the car lurched to a stop. Quatre made a muffled sound of protest, and Duo hastily shifted his grip off the wrist brace.

"Next light, turn left," Zechs instructed.

Trowa kept glancing in the rearview mirror, an erratic and irresponsible driver for once. Quatre moaned softly as his whole body went tense and rigid. His feet thrummed against the upholstery as a sudden convulsion gripped him, and Trowa actually turned to look.

"Road! Car! Look out!" shrieked Duo and Zechs, more or less at the same time.

Trowa hastily jerked the car back across the double lines.

"Jesus!" swore Zechs. "Turn right up at this corner."

"Trowa, dammit, stop trying to get us all killed!" Duo said. Quatre went limp across his lap, and Duo swallowed all the moisture out of his suddenly dry mouth. He should have insisted for the hospital.

Trowa gripped the steering wheel tight, his shoulders hunched in a way that Duo found unmistakably heartbreaking. Zechs directed them through a narrow alley between two buildings and into a parking spot next to a dumpster. A sign declared the parking was for emergencies only, and violators would be towed, but Zechs assured them it'd be fine.

They got Quatre out of the car, and Trowa carried him. Duo left his bag in the car but snagged Quatre's, figuring Sandy would be wanted at some point. Zechs got a shoulder into the dumpster and pushed it away from the wall to reveal a hidden access door. A small hallway and short flight of stairs later, Zechs left them in a small, cozy office room and went to fetch the doctor.

Duo realized that room looked unsettling like a psychiatrist's mixed with a regular doctor's office. A chaise longue dominated the room, but a scattered assortment of medical supplies overflowed out of the metal cabinets surrounding the sink. Trowa gently laid Quatre down and sat there on the edge of the chair, worrying at his hair and cheeks and shoulders with restless hands. Duo stood nearby and fiddled with the end of his braid.

After a few minutes, Zechs returned alone. "He's about done with a session. I told him we could pay cash; how much of Quatre's money is left?"

Duo pulled the envelope from his pocket. He counted, quickly, and then counted again to be sure. "Uh, shit, well, a little over twelve hundred dollars."

"Excuse me?" Zechs gaped at him. "How much?"

Duo counted one more time, achingly slow. "One thousand, two hundred, forty dollars. Plus what's left in my pocket and yours, and whatever change Quatre has in his."

Trowa held out his hand, demanding, and Duo reluctantly turned over the wad of cash. The ten one hundred dollar bills were hard to mistake. Trowa lifted incredulous eyes to Duo's face.

"He said it was birthday money."

Zechs shook his head. "Divide it up. Don't you dare let Doc see we have that much. Jesus, here I was thinking we might not have enough. Trowa, you keep the bulk of it with you."

Duo started to object, but figured that Quatre would be okay with that. Trowa reluctantly took out his wallet and transferred most of Quatre's money into it. The rest he split between Duo and Zechs. The three of them exchanged uneasy looks.

A quick rap on the door was the only warning before the doctor came in. He was a young man with the beginnings of silver streaking his dark hair, and wore a simple collared shirt with khakis. "Hello again, Zechs," he said, smiling. Dark eyes took in Duo, Trowa, and then settled on Quatre. "Bringing me more trouble I see."

Zechs shrugged. "I guess."

"I'm the Doctor," he said by way of introduction. He offered no other name, and Duo figured that was all right by him. "Most people just call me Doc. What's your trouble this time, Zechs?" He washed his hands in the sink as he spoke.

Duo and Trowa shared a quick, look, silently agreeing to let Zechs do the talking. Not that Trowa was going to suddenly start explaining. The thought made Duo grin.

Zechs quickly explained Quatre's symptoms. Duo startled when Zechs added, without any hesitation, "Up until Saturday night the kid was institutionalized."

"Really?" Doc pulled a stethoscope out of a drawer and crossed the room to where Trowa still sat protectively next to Quatre. Ignoring Trowa, the doctor settled the bell of the stethoscope against Quatre's chest. He pulled the plugs from his ears and then manually felt at Quatre's neck. "Do you know what he was receiving treatment for?"

"Uh," Zechs looked to Duo.

Duo felt likewise blank. He scrambled through his memories for a moment. "Anxiety, I guess? He's always been a little nervous."

"Any history of seizures?"

"Not that I know."

"When did the symptoms start?"

"Last night he looked a little down, but he seemed fine. I figured he—" Duo's eyes snapped to Trowa, who looked stricken, and fell silent. "This morning I guess."

"Hmmh," said the doctor. "You know, I wondered what'd happened to you, Zechs. Your friend Trant came a few days ago for a new script. When he said you'd gone soft and given up, I assumed he meant you'd either died or straightened out. I suppose the truth was somewhere in between."

"Something like that," Zechs mumbled. He rubbed his wrists together for a moment before tucking them behind his back.

Doc pried Quatre's eyes open to peer at the dilated pupils. "How long was he institutionalized?"

Again, everyone looked to him. Duo paused and tried to count, but while he was still thinking Trowa held up both hands, only one thumb tucked down. "Nine weeks," Duo said.

"And before that?"

"A clinic. I don't know exactly."

"Then he's probably in withdrawal," the doctor declared. He straightened up and made an absent gesture, as if pulling a drag from an imaginary cigarette. "Without a full blood test I can't say for certain, but I'd bet on it. He's likely been on some type of short-acting benzodiazepine. Ideally I'd prescribe a tapered dose of whatever he was on originally, but without knowing what they were giving him, I'd hate to risk it. You'll need to give him something to control the seizures for a few weeks until he shakes off the worse of it. No pun intended." Doc grinned, but his was the only amused face in the room.

"All right," said Zechs. "What do we give him?"

"Phenobarbital. It isn't something I can just write you a prescription for. I have some back in my office, but that kind of delivery is going to cost extra."

"Fine," said Zechs. "That's fine."

The doctor nodded and left the room. Duo let out a long breath. "Fuck," he said. "Okay, so, tentatively I want to declare this a success. I mean, the hospital would have told us the exact same thing but taken Quatre away. So, yeah, cheers all around, right?"

Trowa still looked stunned. He absently worked his hand into Quare's shoulder, gently kneading the joint with his thumb. When Duo tried to give him a bright, reassuring smile, Trowa just shook his head.

The doctor returned with an orange prescription bottle. "Have him take one a day until the bottle's empty, and if he has anymore seizures after that call me. He's going to be confused when he wakes up, that's normal, just get a pill in him whenever you can today. This is just going to take care of the worst symptoms of the withdrawal, there's nothing I can do for the rest of it, but I guess bring him back if it's unbearable, and I'll see what I can do. What about you, Zechs? Do you know what they had you taking?"

"I wasn't there that long," Zechs said. "I feel fine."

Doc shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let me know if you want some Xanax or Valium for the hell of it. What about them? How about it, you two?" He looked at Duo and Trowa. "I'll give you a group discount."

"Nah, I'm bipolar," Duo said cheerily. "I know what it's like to go off my meds."

Trowa just shook his head.

"Fine. Two hundred for the exam and sixty for the pills."

"Let me see that bottle," Zechs demanded. He wrestled off the cap and looked inside. "Two dollars a pill seems extreme. Let's call it two hundred even."

"Look, it's no skin off my back if your friend rattles his brain into a coma. Two hundred fifty, lowest I'll go."

"Two twenty-five."

"What's to stop me from calling the cops and reporting the lot of you as runaways?" Doc demanded.

Duo sucked in a breath, and he saw Trowa startle as well. Zechs alone seemed unfazed by the doctor's threat. "Two-fifty, and I get the crash space next door again. Not at my old rate, at a new one. I've got the cash this time."

"I've let it to someone else."

"Liar."

Zechs and the man engaged in a fierce, silent battle of the wills.

"Fine," said Zechs. "At the old rate."

The doctor grinned. "Two hundred for the exam, sixty for the prescription, and you can claim the Zechs special again."

"Fine," said Zechs. He shook the doctor's hand. He counted the money out from what Trowa had given him, ended up short, and got the remainder from Duo. Duo was careful to pull from his pocket only exactly what he needed.

The doctor left, and Zechs stuffed a hand through his bangs. "All right," he sighed. "That's done with. I hadn't really planned on coming back here again, though."

"What the fuck was all that? Did you win?"

"I guess. I've got a place to stay at least. You can stay there until Quatre wakes up. Doc won't want us hanging around in the exam room. Come on," he said. Zechs gave the little metal trashcan by his foot a kick.

"What do you mean, you've got a place to stay. We've got a place to stay. Quatre's paying for it." Duo followed after Zechs.

Zechs scowled and flushed red for a moment before saying, "Yeah. I guess." He took them down the hall to another office space that had been converted into a studio apartment of sorts. A folding screen divided the room in half. A sink, microwave, and mini-fridge formed a tiny kitchen to one side, in the center was a battered sofa facing a boxy television set and, presumably, a sleeping area lay hidden behind the screen. On top of the sofa was a plastic laundry basket full of neatly folded clothes, and Zechs stared at it for a moment before chucking it to the floor so Trowa could set Quatre down.

"Sweet digs," Duo commented. He went to check out the space behind the screen, which turned out to be concealing a double bed with faded blue sheets. Trowa found a sliver of space next to Quatre and spun the prescription bottle around in his hands to read the instructions. Duo opened the fridge and looked at the contents, which consisted of a Chinese take-out container of dubious origin and several cans of beer. He nudged the door closed with his knee.

"Let's go shopping," he told Zechs. "You stay here with Quatre, Trowa. We'll walk. There's something nearby, right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Zechs. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it to the floor in favor of a shirt out of the laundry basket. He shrugged into it and adjusted the tight fit of the dark fabric against his chest; the faded screen print on the front was for some band concert from May of that year, and the design relied heavily on skulls and black roses. "Let's go."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

As promised, one last chapter before I go on vacation. So what if I have to be awake in 4 hours? Totally worth it.

Maybe I'll try to write on the plane.

copyright 2011 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	51. The Price to Pay

LSC / 01-01-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-One: The Price to Pay)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 51

**The Price to Pay**

* * *

"Let me see that again," Duo demanded. They were walking back from the corner store with a plastic bag of loot apiece.

Zechs sighed and dug his wallet, black leather with big silver snaps, out from his pocket. It'd been in the laundry basket with the rest of his stuff, whatever that meant. The money was gone, of course, but it wasn't like he'd been carrying much, or that he begrudged Doc the pilfering.

Duo broke open the snaps and tilted the wallet up into the sunlight. "Zechs Merquise," he read. "Height, six-two. Weight, one-sixty – hate to break it to you, Milly, but hospital food's gone straight to your hips. Ah, here's the best part. Age, twenty-fucking-one." Duo tossed the wallet back to him. "I can't believe that works. You still know where to get a fake ID that good?"

Zechs shrugged.

"You're actually a pretty useful guy to have around, I guess."

Zechs snapped his attention over the words, searching for sarcasm, but found none. He shrugged again, flustered by the praise. When they reached the back alley behind Doc's building, Zechs told Duo to go on up without him. He fished out the pack of smokes and lighter from his bag.

Duo made a face. "You'll kill yourself with those."

Zechs rolled one shoulder and tapped a cigarette out of the pack. "Eventually," he said. He cupped the flame over the end until the paper caught and glowed and acrid smoke billowed up into the air.

Duo's eyes found the thick leather cuffs over Zechs's wrists. "Hmph," he said. "Whatever."

Zechs leaned up against the hood of Trowa's car and fucking savored his smoke. Six, no, nearly seven weeks without; torture, nothing less than. Beads of condensation adhered the thin plastic of the shopping bag to the cans of beer within, and Zechs dragged them into the scant shade of the car. He tapped out his first cigarette and lit up another. Just then, the back door the building opened and the doctor himself stepped out into the alley.

"You still smoking menthols? Give me one," the doctor said.

"Bumming from kids? Shame on you," Zechs said. He tapped one out of the pack and flipped it out in offering.

Doc took the cigarette and gestured for Zechs to light him. "You're too young to be doing this," the doctor said mildly. He waved a plume of smoke away from the space between them.

"Bit late now for you to be concerned about it."

"Suppose so," said the doctor. He ran a critical eye over Zechs, with a close scrutiny that he neither welcomed nor wanted. "You're looking well. A bit worse for wear, but on the whole well enough. Charlotte know where you are?"

"No. Don't tell her, either."

"When have I ever?" Doc flicked his ashes toward a nearby oil slick and then seemed disappointed when they failed to make it. "You getting back into your old crowd?"

Zechs scowled. "None of your business."

"No, I suppose not. Although sometimes it is," Doc chuckled. "Well, don't worry about it. If Trant or someone else turns up looking, I won't mention you."

"Why?" Zechs felt a prickly snake of fear slither its way up his spine. Doc never did anything for free.

"We'll call it part of your rent." The doctor dropped his cigarette to the ground and stamped out the ember. "Good to have you back, Zechs." He clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Zechs watched him leave, and then he stood there in the baking sun and slowly smoked a third cigarette before going inside. He trudged up the stairs and hesitated just outside the door to what had once been and now was again his room. "Fuck it," he muttered.

Inside he found Duo, Trowa, and Quatre all lined up on the sofa watching television. Or, rather, Duo watched the television while eating a sandwich, Trowa watched Quatre, and the little blonde sat glassy-eyed and distant. Which was an improvement over twitching and unconscious, at least. Someone had wrapped him in one of the blankets, and his fingers worried absently at the frayed edges.

Zechs set the perspiration-coated cans into the fridge amid the food Duo had bought. He grabbed one of the old cans, since they were already cold, and cracked the top. Cheap beer mingled with the menthol smoke taste across his tongue, and Zechs felt thoroughly pleased with the results. Since the couch was full, he sat on the floor next to the laundry basket and began to sort through his clothes.

This proved more interesting than the television to Duo, who transferred his obnoxiously curious attention. His long braid dangled off the arm of the couch as he dipped sideways to watch. Zechs sipped the beer and set aside his red hoodie; too warm for now, but good to know it was here.

Duo shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, chewed, and spoke mostly coherently around the lump. "Hey, let me try some of your beer."

"Try some? You've never drank before?"

"Nope. They aren't exactly clawing at the padded doors to give the crazies champagne and caviar. Funny, that." When Zechs failed to respond, Duo made up for the silence. "Well, okay, so I had this foster dad once who loved scotch, and I was like eight, so I thought it a grand idea to see what all the fuss was about. But I was like eight, so, totally doesn't count. I just thought it tasted like I'd swallowed fire. And then there was the time my roommate at reform school snuck in a bottle of rum or whisky or whatever, but he didn't share any with me and just puked all over his bed later."

"Fascinating," said Zechs.

"I detect sarcasm."

"Really?"

Duo abruptly switched gears, Zechs could almost see the mental shift in his thoughts; it was like watching a neon sign flash, with maybe a few busted lights. "So is all that yours? How come all your clothes are here?"

"I was staying here for a while. Doc's a shitty housekeeper and couldn't be bothered to chuck it when I left."

"Looks like he washed and folded them for you."

"What do you know?" Zechs shot back. He crumbled the empty can with a fist and stood. "You're just a kid."

"I'm as old as you!" Duo protested.

Zechs flipped the can at the wastebasket, where it made a rattling sound against the metal rim before bouncing out on to the floor. "I'm going for a walk," he announced. "You can't have any of my beer while I'm gone, either. Don't think you can sneak one and hope I can't fucking count."

"Whatever!" Duo called after him. Zechs pounded down the stairs and back out into the sweltering late summer heat. He lit up again and smoked while he walked, fast, angry strides taking him in a random direction.

Eventually Zechs stopped and took an assessment of his location. Sweat grabbed at and plastered his bangs to his forehead, and Zechs stepped into the air-conditioned cool of a shopping arcade. He strolled leisurely to the other end, taking his damn sweet time to window shop without really seeing the merchandise.

Once to the other side of the street, he found the nearest bus stop and waited on the opposite end of the bench as two teen girls talking in rapid-fire, gum-snapping oh-my-gods and like-totallys. When the bus shambled up, Zechs chose to wait it out rather than board along with the girls, who had been eyeballing him with poorly concealed interest for several minutes. He sat in the scant stretch of shade for the next bus.

He rode without caring about the route or destination. He only cared that the bus was air conditioned and moving, going forward to anywhere other than where he'd been. After a while he grew hungry, and Zechs stopped off at a cafe for lunch. He flashed his ID to order a beer. Maybe he should feel bad for using so much of Quatre's money, but the kid owed him for Doc. And that damn rent, which Zechs did not want to think about, so he ordered another beer and a shot for good measure and made swift work of it before boarding another bus going as far from downtown as possible.

The bus ended up being a crowded one, and Zechs found himself wedged between a row of seats and the exit door. He had a pleasant buzz going, which made it slightly difficult to keep his balance when the bus lurched forward, and Zechs wrapped a hand through one of the dangling leather loops to keep from stumbling. At the next stop, an old woman with a cane labored her way up the steps and into the packed bus.

"Sit here, ma'am," said a clipped voice, at once both deferentially polite and forcefully stern. A young man in oil-stained cover-alls stood up to offer his seat.

"Thank you," she wheezed.

The young man bobbed a head of dark hair and stepped toward Zechs to find a handhold for balance as the bus rumbled forward. They made eye contact briefly before Zechs looked toward the windows instead. In the reflection, he could see the young man still watching him with a puzzled frown, like maybe they were supposed to know each other. Zechs resisted the urge to pick a fight, for no other reason than he disliked being stared at, especially with such intensity.

The young man shook his head slightly and shifted his gaze to the front of the bus in polite dismissal, and Zechs took the opportunity to slide his attention sideways. He'd caught a glimpse of something interesting in the window reflection; the badge sewn into the young man's uniform, which bore the name of the auto shop where he worked and, more importantly, the stranger's identity. Oh, it could be a coincidence, or he could have the name wrong, but Zechs didn't think that was the case. He got off at the very next stop, just to be safe.

Zechs crossed the street, intending to find a bus going in the opposite direction, since inevitability dictated he'd need to start heading back downtown, and then he was thoroughly distracted the sight of a payphone. Why the hell not? He had enough liquid courage in him to encourage bad ideas and reckless behavior. And maybe he could chase the bus down afterward, find that damn mechanic, and then brawl with that braided idiot over the consequences. Or he could just pick up the fucking phone, consult the business card he'd transferred carefully from pocket to wallet, and make an even stupider life decision.

A short series of polite questions later, Zechs waited impatiently for whatever, whoever.

"Hello?"

"You need to start answering with more than just hello. It isn't fair."

And then, cautiously, "I'm sorry. Who is this?"

"Yeah. Hi, Wufei. It's Zechs."

"Peacecraft?" He was startled, and Zechs had no way of knowing if it was a pleased type of surprise or not.

"Yup. How are you?"

"Fine," he said, in the same quick, automatic way as Meiran. "Why are you calling?" He sounded bewildered, but not belligerent like she'd been. He seemed genuinely mystified by the entire exchange.

"Hell, I don't know. Bored."

"Oh, I see. Well. How are things there? How are you?" Polite courtesy, nothing more.

"Fantastic."

"Maxwell's sincerity seems to have spread. Thanks to him I am well trained to recognize sarcasm." And maybe a hint of humor, maybe he was smiling, unseen, as he spoke, with that wry little smile that seemed at once to mock you, himself, and the entire situation in one small. companionable gesture. Or maybe not.

"Can't slip anything by you, I guess."

"Ah, yes. Well. Am I to assume you're using one of those tokens I left? I'd thought maybe it was Maxwell calling, but now that I think about it he has individual therapy at this time."

"Did you want to talk to him instead?" Zechs couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Not that he really tried.

"Ah," he made a soft sound of distress, and Zechs knew for sure he had to be frowning in that thoughtful sort of puzzlement that puckered a crooked line between his eyebrows. "No, that isn't what I meant."

"Right," said Zechs.

"Well. How are Maxwell and Winner?"

"Peachy. Never better."

"Mhm? Are you all right, Peacecraft?" And now he sounded concerned, as opposed to polite.

Zechs opened his mouth to say several things, all of them flippant and slightly rude, but instead his tongue tangled around thorny hesitation and lay silent.

"Oh. I have to go."

Zechs could hear shouting in the background, loud enough to almost drown out the soft words but not distinct enough for him to eavesdrop. "Yeah, okay."

"Yes. Well. Thank you for calling."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"Yes," he said, and then, muffled, like he'd pressed the phone against his shoulder, came a series of short, urgent sounds. Angry ones came in answer.

"Uh, take care."

"What? Yes. Goodbye."

"Sure," said Zechs, speaking directly to the silence of a dead line. He slammed the receiver back into the cradle. What a goddamn waste of thirty-five cents.

* * *

When Zechs got back downtown it was nearly six o'clock. He had enough time for one more cigarette before going inside. Rather than wait in the room, which was hard to think of as his thanks to Duo's insistence they share, Zechs slipped into the doctor's office. The secretary gave him a curious look, but said nothing as he slumped across one of the waiting room chairs.

He picked up one of the inoffensively bland home decorating magazines and flipped through photo spreads of French Colonials-style sea cottages. At six precisely, the doctor's last patient of the day emerged from the exam room. The man paused long enough at the secretary's desk to consult briefly about next week's appointment before leaving out the front frosted glass door.

The secretary shot Zechs another glance, but before she could investigate his presence, the doctor joined them. He spared Zechs only a small look of annoyance before sending his secretary home with the reassurance he'd lock up for the night.

Once she left, Doc disappeared back into his exam room to fetch his briefcase. Zechs gripped a hand into the leather armrest of the chair before cautiously getting to his feet.

"You know you can't hang out in here," the doctor said, coming back into the waiting room. "You're not a patient."

"Guess not," Zechs agreed. He watched as Doc made a circuit of the room, turning off lights and locking doors. He retreated into the back hallway that contained the rest of the doctor's office space, which had long ago been converted into the covert exam room and the make shift apartment. Or maybe it'd always been arranged like that, and the doctor was the one who assigned them new purposes. Whatever.

"My friends are in there," Zechs warned, before the doctor could complete his reach for the crash space door.

"Are they?" said Doc. It was his therapy tone, the arched almost-sarcasm that Zechs hated. "I've told you before not to have guests over."

"Charge me the rent, if you want. I'll pay."

The doctor set a hand into the small of Zechs's back and urged him toward the exam room instead. "Yes, I suppose you will," he said mildly. "Will they be staying long?"

"I guess," said Zechs. He stepped into the room and dug his hands into his pockets. "Hell if I know their plans."

"Getting attached?" Doc asked. He closed the door and thumbed in the lock. "How unlike you."

"I guess. I hate when you get nosy."

"Professional habit," the doctor said. He stepped close, and at that distance, or rather the lack of it, Zechs's height became more apparent. Zechs hunched his shoulders reflexively, out of habit. He only had a few inches on the doctor, just enough to make him tilt his head back in order to study Zechs's face. Doc lifted a hand and ran the side of his thumb across Zechs's lower lip.

"What?" demanded Zechs.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just last time I saw you, you'd busted open the skin here. No doubt due to some senseless fight, which is a shame. You have a lovely mouth."

Zechs turned his face away with a scowl. "Don't talk like that."

"How would you have me talk?" His dark yes teased, and his sharp smile was a cruel taunt. An alligator's smile, reassuring that the water was safe for a swim.

"I'd have you not talk at all."

"Where's the fun in that?" The doctor took one step forward, and then another, driving Zechs before him with a slow intensity. "You do have a lovely mouth. I've always thought so. That, and your hair," and now the doctor lifted a hand as if to pet him, and Zechs retreated only to find the chaise lounge underfoot. The edge caught the back of his knees and they buckled, forcing him to sit.

The doctor succeeded in burying his fingers into the long platinum strands. "And your eyes," he added, as Zechs glared up at him. "All that angry heat and still such a cold blue. Beautiful."

Zechs balled his hands into fists at his side, knuckling forcefully into the soft leather. "Jesus, Doc, cut it out. Stop saying that queer shit."

The doctor chuckled, low and throaty, as his hands withdrew from Zechs's hair and found instead the fly to his khakis. "Of course. How rude of me," he said. So clear and straightforward was the mockery that Zechs grit his teeth against harsh words.

"You know I'm not like that," Zechs insisted. He lifted his face in supplication as his hands rose up to find the doctor's hips.

Dark eyes grew soft and serious. "I know."

Zechs got his thumbs through the belt loops and slid the fabric low and out of the way. The doctor's hands were in his hair again, the man's long and lean fingers rubbing an infuriatingly gentle pattern against the back of Zechs's head. Unbidden and unwanted, the sudden image came to mind of a very different set of dark eyes, black like spilled ink and just as mesmerizing and dangerous in turns, and Zechs felt a hot coil wrap itself tight around his heart and squeeze.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Happy New Year! I'm back from vacation. I ended up bringing a notebook and writing on the plane after all.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	52. Mending

LSC / 01-02-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Two: Mending)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 52

**Mending**

* * *

The bed smelled wrong. Not unclean or unpleasant, but not too clean and sterile either, like a hospital or hotel. The sheets felt soft and worn under his curious touch, and the pillow beneath his cheek tickled like something furry. Oh, because it was Sandy trapped beneath him. Quatre realized this when he opened his eyes, although his bear was the only familiar thing he saw.

He managed to get one stiff and unresponsive elbow into the mattress and used it to force himself up into a dizzying sitting position. Quatre clutched a hand around Sandy's paw and struggled against the sudden tunneling blackness. Even that small effort seemed to set his heart racing, creating a wild, painful drumming inside his chest.

Over the rush of pulse in his ears, Quatre heard the soft sound of conversation. After a few minutes of listening, he realized the noise was a movie of some sort, which went abruptly to commercial for stain remover for a few seconds before getting muted, or at least turned so low he could no longer hear. The flickering silver light reached through the dark room and played shadows against the folding screen that separated the bed from whatever lay beyond.

Quatre carefully slipped his bare legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed the hem of the sheet and pulled, taking the whole thing off to wrap around his shoulders against a sudden chill. With Sandy close at his side, Quatre cautiously edged around the side of the screen. The small room looked just as unfamiliar and strange as he expected, but within the glow of the television set he could make out the distinct outline of Duo, crinkled waves of hair down around his face to be brushed.

He made only the barest of sounds, a sandpapery sort of whisper, but Duo's head snapped around. "Hey!" He vaulted over the back of the couch, and then tossed his hair back into a messy ponytail as he approached. "You're up," Duo said.

Quatre nodded, as that seemed the simplest response, and gripped his fingers tight into the fabric of the blanket. He swallowed convulsively around the dry, hard lump in his throat.

"You doing okay? Did you need something? How are you feeling? Do you want to sit down?"

The rush of questions crashed over Quatre in a dizzying wave, and he shook his head part in response, part in a vain hope of clearing out the cobwebs.

Duo stepped close and set a hand upon Quatre's shoulder. "Here, come sit," he said slowly. He gently guided Quatre over to the sofa and down on to one of the cushions. Once again quick and eager, Duo popped up and fetched a glass of water from the little kitchenette-type set of cabinets on the far wall. He returned and then seemed to hesitate between handing the glass to Quatre and setting it directly against his lips.

Quatre ended the debate by taking the water in both hands and gratefully draining the whole thing in great, desperate gulps. Only then did he try again to speak, and although his voice came out a little hoarse, his tongue did at least obey him. "Where am I?"

"Oh," said Duo. "Uh, our new digs. Like it? Casa de Doctor."

Quatre pulled his knees up and wedged Sandy securely into the space between his legs and chest. He huddled into the blanket. Duo's answer did not make sense, but he was afraid to ask again, so he just nodded as if he understood.

"Are you hungry? Do you want more water? I'll get you some more water," Duo offered. He took the glass and bounded back over to the sink.

After a little shifting, Quatre succeeded in getting Sandy's ear up where he could get his teeth around it. He moved his eyes slowly across the windowless room, taking in every strange and unfamiliar little detail. The only light in the room was the flickering television which, although the movie had resumed, was still muted. The action hero engaged in what had to be witty banter with his hapless sidekick, and Quatre rested his cheek into the groove between his knees to watch Duo instead.

Duo sunk back into the sofa cushion and handed Quatre the refilled glass of water. This one he sipped at instead of gulping, the parched thirst of earlier sated but not eliminated. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem. How are you feeling?"

"I - I don't know," Quatre answered.

"Fair enough," Duo said. He grinned and ruffled a hand through Quatre's hair. "Trowa's already gone home. Sorry, kiddo, he wanted to stay."

"Oh." And that didn't make sense either. Quatre tested the gaping abyss of his memory for a moment, trying to place Trowa somewhere within the jumbled timeline. With a sinking sense of dread, Quatre recalled their fight in the car, and the wounded animal look he'd received in exchange for a prickly rejection. And after? Everything spun together into a multicolored whorl before dulling out into grey, grey haze, and Quatre's stomach clenched painfully around the realization that Trowa had to be mad at him. They'd had that fight. He couldn't remember anything after that, or even before, because nothing else seemed to matter.

"Hey," said Duo suddenly, voice low and rough with concern. "Don't do that. Come back here, okay? Stay with me, Quatre." He snapped his fingers several times right in front of Quatre's face.

"What?" He blinked rapidly, Duo jarring back into focus along with everything else.

"Nothing," said Duo. He tossed his hair free of its loose bundle and began to braid it together, deft and experienced fingers easily plaiting the strands without needing to look at them. "Feel free to channel surf, but it's just basic so don't get your hopes up." When Quatre continued to just sit there unmoving, Duo hurried through the last of the braid and, after snapping a hair tie into place around the end, found the remote. He cycled once through the channels before just leaving it on the original selection.

The door to the room swung open, and Quatre startled at the suddenness. Zechs slammed it shut behind him, making Quatre jump again, and Duo's brows swooped into a frown.

He stood there for a moment looking at them. Blonde hair, normally straight and neat down his back, was instead disheveled around his face, which had a tender sort of puffiness to it. "Good, he's up," Zechs said at last. He stalked across the room. "I'm going to bed. Shut up and keep quiet. Don't wake me."

"Hey!" Duo protested, as Zechs disappeared behind the screen. "We agreed Quatre got the bed."

"I didn't agree to shit," Zechs called back. "You just decided that."

"Don't be an asshole. You can have the sofa, I'll-"

"Share with Quatre?" Zechs emerged from side of the screen so he could glare at Duo. His arms tangled into the fabric of his shirt as he jerked it up and over his head. "Nice fucking try. I get the bed, you get the floor, crazy gets the sofa, everyone's happy."

"What the hell, man. What's gotten into you?"

"It's okay," Quatre whispered. "It's okay, I don't mind. I'm not even tired."

"I mind," Duo grumbled, but he refrained from further escalating the fight. He crossed his arms over his chest and slouched into a full-scale pout. "That guy, I swear, I don't get him. Hot, cold. Maybe he's bipolar, too. Maybe the whole goddamn world is bipolar except you, cutie-Q. And Trowa, I guess, he seems pretty set to one degree of emotion all the time. All right, fine, whatever, bad analogy."

They sat in silence and watched the rest of the movie, more or less, with Duo embarking on random little conversation tangents whenever Quatre remained quiet for too long. He gave noncommital answers, still greatly confused about pretty much everything except the all-consuming worry that Trowa hated him now. At some point, Duo drifted into sleep, curled on his corner of the sofa, but Quatre did not feel tired in the least. Well, actually, he felt utterly drained and exhausted, but not tired in the sense of waiting to sleep. So he sat and waited for Duo to stir awake and seamlessly rejoin the one-sided conversation as if he'd never dropped it in the first place.

In what he assumed to be the morning, since all the television stations switched into news programs full of chipper newscasters with perfect hair and teeth, Duo fixed for himself a breakfast of string cheese and two slices of bread. Quatre tried to refuse, on the grounds he wasn't hungry, but Duo insisted so much that he at last reluctantly accepted a single slice of bread. He vindictively tore it into tiny pieces with his fingers first, getting crumbs all over the front of the blanket, before nibbling at the remainder.

Zechs woke up sometime later and came out from behind the screen with his long hair all in a tangle over his shoulders and one eye winced shut with what Duo dryly observed to be a hangover, only to earn a frosty "fuck you" in return. He kicked around the contents of a laundry basket until a suitable set of clothing fell free. Zechs left, and then returned much later dressed in those clothes with his freshly washed hair half-dry, half-damp across his back. This grabbed Duo's interest, and he quizzed Zechs about the availability of a shower.

Zechs scrunched the towel through his hair again, soaking out more water from the straight, pale locks. "Sure," he said with a shrug. "Give me a second, and I'll show you. It's a little tricky. Doc's got membership in the executive gym up on the twelfth floor. It's unstaffed, but there's a keypad for entry so you gotta know the code." He seemed in a much better mood than when he'd both gone to bed and woken up, and Duo seemed mollified by the polite tone.

Quatre shifted within his cocoon of blanket. He didn't like the idea of being left alone, even for the few minutes it'd take for the two of them to run their errand, but he even less liked the idea of wandering the building. The bread disagreed with his empty stomach, so Quatre decided it best to just sit quietly and let the two of them disappear. Duo gave him a casual, "I'll be back in a jiff," to which Quatre just nodded and nodded until the door closed shut.

Once he felt certain they had to be in the elevator on the way up to the twelfth floor, Quatre slowly got to his feet. Not very successfully he picked a swaying, stumbling path to the door. A flash of bizarre deja vu gripped him as he clung to the doorframe, and Quatre remembered suddenly a sensation like a heaving ship, so vivid and sharp that he thought he could even taste the salty spray of the sea. Which made absolutely no sense whatsoever and only served to confuse him utterly, for when could he possibly have gone sailing, ever? Quatre hoisted the blanket and Sandy both tighter to his chest, binding them in place with his splinted wrist as he used his good hand to grip the doorknob like a lifeline. In case he drowned. That made sense. Except not really.

Leaving the room seemed suddenly like a terrible idea. He hadn't the first idea where the bathroom was, anyway, and standing there was not at all helping the tumbling nausea that roiled and rebelled in his stomach. Cold sweat beaded across his forehead. Quatre slowly turned in place and pushed off from the door to stagger a zig-zag path back to the sofa. He fell across the cushions, gripping into the upholstery like he really might drown otherwise. He took one shaking breath and then another, desperate to find some semblance of calm.

And he must have drifted off into some kind of hazy unconsciousness, because the next thing he knew was a sharp falling sensation, so severe and horrible that he twitched awake trying to catch himself, only to find he was still stretched out flat on the sofa. Quatre sat up shivering despite the inexplicable, flushed heat that uncomfortably made him think for one wild, incoherent second that he'd caught fire. He dug trembling fingers into Sandy's stomach and looked uneasily around the small, empty room. How long had he been out? The room offered a clue in the form of two towels draped over the screen; Duo and Zechs must have already returned and left again, for whatever reason.

His eyes fell upon the borrowed tote bag full of his things, lying not too far from the sofa. Quatre reached, but remained just a shade shy of his goal. He reluctantly tumbled free of the couch and crawled shakily over to the tote, dragging the blanket with him. He dug around inside and found his jeans. He found the envelope within the pocket, like he expected, but even without looking he could immediately tell it was empty. Quatre's breath caught in his throat as terrible, panicked hysteria presented him with several likely scenarios, all of which involved Duo and Zechs running away with his money.

Which didn't make sense, so Quatre desperately ignored that little whisper of doubting fear. There had to be some explanation. He scooted back to where he could lean against the side of the couch and tried to convince himself that someone, anyone, would be back soon and would explain everything. He still didn't understand where he was, or how he'd gotten there, or why he felt so sick and miserable. He wrestled a change of clothes out of his scant possessions, as if maybe that would help him feel better, and it didn't, not really, and after a while he put on his last pair of clean socks but not his shoes. He wasn't going anywhere, unless it was within the small confines of that room, and even then that was a debatable action.

Eventually the bewildering vertigo lifted enough that he managed to get back on to the couch. He was sitting there, not really doing anything, when the door opened. He looked up expectantly, and then froze when Duo entered with Trowa right behind him. Quatre quickly averted his eyes. Heat filled his face again, but he knew this time it was only a blush and not a wildfire coursing through his body. Which didn't necessarily mean it felt any better.

Duo, at least, must have picked up on something at once, because Quatre just heard him whispering to Trowa for a minute before the door opened and shut again. Quatre dared to peek sideways from the corner of his eye and confirmed his suspicion; Duo had left him alone with Trowa. Trowa, who was most certainly mad at him, and who likely never wanted to see him again. Quatre hunched lower into the sofa and wished for something more substantial than Sandy to hide behind.

Trowa crossed the room. The cushion rose and fell in a wave as Trowa's weight shifted it. Quatre kept his gaze lowered, dreading to look up and see what surely had to be a great deal of anger directed at him.

"Quatre," said Trowa, in a soft, questioning way that almost did not sound angry, and therefore scared Quatre all the more. He flinched out from under the sudden touch of Trowa's fingers against his bangs, but unless he scrambled over the arm of the sofa he had nowhere to flee.

"Quatre," he said again, the sounds a twisting plea that stretched between them and fell into the cracks of Quatre's uneasy balance. He shivered as the scale tipped precipitously into panic.

Words formed and stuck in his throat, so hard and fast that Quatre thought he would choke. He gasped air in great, heaving gulps that skidded wildly into the territory of sobs, and then abruptly Trowa's arms were around him. "You're okay," Trowa insisted, his voice low and tender and a balm across the rough gouges in Quatre's heart. "Shh, just calm down. Take a deep breath."

"Please don't be mad," Quatre cried. He'd at last found enough air to form the words, although they flew out in such a panicked slur that he wasn't at all surprised when Trowa just said, "What?" with a clear note of confusion.

Quatre drew a jagged, shaking breath. Trowa pulled him tight against his chest, with Quatre's face buried into his shoulder. "Breathe slow," Trowa murmured. "Calm down, talk to me."

"But you're mad at me," Quatre whined. The words came easier when he couldn't see Trowa's face and could hear only the slow, deep beat of the older boy's heart against his ribs. Trowa was warm, in a wonderful, reassuring way that had Quatre huddling gratefully into the embrace.

"What?" said Trowa again. "Mad at you?" He sounded utterly bewildered. "Quatre, why would I ever be mad at you? I..." Trowa's grip tightened for a moment. "I'm not mad at you. No one's mad at you."

"But..." Quatre's thoughts swirled around and around. He grew dizzy trying to follow them, and convulsively gripped Trowa's strong arms against the sudden fear he was going to fall off some unseen edge.

"I promise, I'm not mad. I'm just worried. I've been so worried about you. Okay? Just worried. Not mad."

Quatre nodded stiffly. Trowa pulled them apart but kept his arms around Quatre, one hand moving absently in small, reassuring circles. He brushed tenderly at Quatre's bangs and then drew the tips of his fingers down the line of Quatre's jaw. His eyes searched Quatre's face intently, and Quatre grew fearful that Trowa would see something there he disliked.

With an impossibly slow and gentle motion, Trowa pressed a soft kiss on to Quatre's cheek. "How do you feel?" he asked kindly.

Quatre shook his head.

Trowa found the edge of the blanket and tucked it more securely over Quatre's shoulders. "I'll be right back," he assured Quatre.

Panic jolted him with each little step Trowa took toward the kitchenette, because Quatre feared so terribly that Trowa would either, at any moment, reveal a deep-seated fury or simply leave. Quatre couldn't decide which would be worse. Some small part of him, a very small section of mind obscured and confused by persistent doubt, that part at least acknowledged Trowa could be trusted to tell the truth. But then Quatre knew Trowa would just leave him for some other reason.

If he could really be said to leave at all – that is, what did Trowa have to leave from? They weren't anything. They weren't anywhere. Quatre recalled his pitiful rejections, both inside Catherine's car, in which Trowa offered and he refused and maybe everything was one big mistake or misunderstanding and Trowa just wanted to be left alone.

He'd worked himself up into such a jumble of anxious babble that it took several repetitions of his name before Quatre snapped back into focus. Trowa gripped a glass of water in one hand and Quatre's shoulder, which he'd been shaking, in the other. Green eyes bore into him a keen glimmer of concern.

"What?" said Quatre.

"Here," Trowa said. He slowly released Quatre's arm and pressed the water toward him. Once Quatre had the glass held firm in both hands, Trowa offered a single round, white pill from an unmarked orange bottle.

"Huh?" Quatre hated immediately the stupid, confused noise.

Trowa nodded. "Oh, and," he said, shifting abruptly to reach into his back pocket. Trowa drew forth his wallet and fanned out the contents. "I ended up with your money. For safe-keeping," he added quickly. "You can have it back. But where did you get so much?"

The pill dissolved, bitter and gritty, on the back of his tongue when Quatre failed to get it swallowed on the first attempt. He gulped water, coughed, nearly choked, and then finally grimaced as the pill slid down but the medicinal taste lingered. The pathetic display at least served to distract Trowa from his inquiry.

Trowa rubbed a hand across Quatre's back. "You okay?"

He nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Quatre wanted to question everything, but was more than a little afraid of the answers – and still partially convinced, for whatever wild reason, that Trowa had to be harboring some lingering resentment at the very least. He traced the pad of his index finger around the rim of the glass in an absent, nervous gesture.

"Hey," said Trowa quietly. "What's wrong? Do you not feel well? It's okay, the doctor said it's just going to be that way for a little while."

"Doctor?"

"Did Duo explain anything?"

Quatre hesitated before slowly shaking his head.

"Oh," said Trowa. "What do you remember?" He spoke gently, with a pressing sort of concern that made Quatre feel flustered and embarrassed without really understanding why.

Quatre shook his head and drank some water as a means to delay answering. Trowa remained patient and kind, with one hand working a gentle massaging grip into Quatre's shoulder. When Quatre offered nothing more than silence, Trowa carefully gave the simple and straight-forward details as to what had happened.

Quatre felt his face heat with a blush. "I'm sorry," he said, when Trowa finished explaining.

Trowa carefully took the water glass from him and set on the floor, as far as he could reach and well out of the way. He then pulled Quatre into a tight embrace, both arms wrapped tight around the smaller boy. "You didn't do anything wrong," Trowa insisted. "I'm not mad at you. If anything… God, Quatre, if anything I should be the one to apologize. You shouldn't even be here."

Quatre pressed his cheek against Trowa's shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it," Trowa said quickly. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're okay."

And Quatre felt maybe he had to believe him then, or maybe he was just exhausted of feeling so anxious and nervous about Trowa, of all people. He put his arms around Trowa with a soft sigh, releasing a coil of tension he hadn't really been aware of until it was gone. "Yeah," he said.

Warmth and safety seeped into Quatre with every quiet minute Trowa just sat there, holding him. A thick, heavy slowness settled into his limbs, which was preferable to the sea-sick discomfort of earlier. Trowa shifted into a more comfortable position and pulled Quatre along with him, practically up into his lap. Quatre settled an ear against Trowa's chest and became hypnotically fascinated with listening to the slow and steady heartbeat within.

Trowa spoke. He only felt the reverberation of sound and missed the actual words. "Mhm?" Quatre mumbled, tilting his head back. "What?"

"I… Nothing," Trowa said. He smoothed the blanket out from around Quatre's shoulders. "I can't stay long. I have to pick Catherine up from work."

"Oh." It was all he could manage, that small and breathless sound, as if all the air had been wrenched from his lungs in one sudden, violent motion.

"Come with me," Trowa urged. "I don't trust," he hesitated. "I just think you'd be safer with me. I'll make Catherine understand. She likes you anyway."

"Okay," Quatre agreed immediately. He'd refused once before when Trowa offered, that time at the bookstore, and was determined this time not to make the same mistake. "What about Duo and Zechs?"

"They'll understand. They'll be fine here," Trowa assured him. "You can leave a note. Here," he said, carefully extracting himself from the sofa. After a moment of searching the room, he turned up a pencil and a pad of sticky notes emblazoned with the logo for an anti-depressant. "Use this. I'll get your things. Where are your shoes?"

Trowa moved quickly, with an urgency that Quatre could not muster up the energy to replicate. He balanced the paper against his knee, which was a bit awkward with his wrist all splinted up as it was, and lazily wrote a short message. Getting up off the sofa proved a little difficult, but he managed nonetheless to stick the note to the middle of the television screen. He tilted his head to follow the crooked angle of the paper against the glass. Perfect.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Hooray for updates. I guess I don't have much to say except thanks for reading and reviewing!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	53. Risk

LSC / 01-04-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Three: Risk)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 53

**Risk**

* * *

Reckless was hardly a word Trowa used in conjunction with himself, but at that moment he felt it an entirely apt description of his actions. Maybe it'd be easier if Catherine just knew the truth about Quatre, but whenever Trowa thought about Quatre being taken away, sent back to the hospital or sent someplace worse, someplace Trowa could not follow… those sort of thoughts made his chest ache and stomach twist. As it were, she seemed curious but oddly complacent with Quatre as Trowa's small blonde shadow when they went to pick her up from work. She dropped the two of them off at the apartment and went to run errands. Trowa watched her leave with a flutter of apprehension; she suspected something, he felt sure of it, and her silent acceptance worried him more than any amount of incessant questioning.

Trowa kept a careful hand on Quatre's back as they ascended the stairs. He seemed steadier on his feet now, at least. Earlier, leaving the doctor's office, he'd been stumbling on the stairs, to the point that Trowa almost had to carry him or risk letting him fall. Trowa unlocked the door and urged Quatre inside.

"Here, set your things in my room," Trowa said quietly. He took Quatre's hand in his and pulled him, unresisting, down the hallway.

Once he had Quatre settled on the bed, Trowa studied him for a long moment. Part of him wanted to abandon the whole idea and take off; back to that doctor's office, or maybe somewhere else entirely, like the next town over, since he was being reckless anyway. But he didn't trust the doctor, didn't trust that tall blonde either, and certainly hated the idea of Quatre being out there by himself in such a state - and there was his sister to consider. Trowa reached a hand out and ran it through Quatre's bangs. He felt such an unstoppable tenderness toward Quatre that any amount risk was worth it, but he worried now that the risk was too great, that Catherine would get too curious.

Quatre lifted his face at Trowa's touch. Deep and clear, those aquamarine eyes returned from whatever vacant and empty place they'd drifted and focused in on Trowa. Slowly, a startling sweet and shy smile spread across Quatre's face, as if the boy had forgotten entirely Trowa was there and was just now registering his presence.

Trowa sunk to his knees and wrapped his arms around Quatre's middle. He laid his cheek across Quatre's thigh and tried to reassure himself he'd made the right decision.

After a stretch of silence, Quatre spoke. "Trowa? Can I use your shower?"

Trowa tilted his head back to look at Quatre. "Of course," he said, getting quickly to his feet. Heat like a slow burn crept up the back of his neck.

"Thanks," said Quatre. "Duo and Zechs got to, but I didn't."

The statement made little sense to Trowa, and he did not especially like the dreamy mumble in which it'd been delivered. He got Quatre a fresh towel out of the dryer and told him to use any of the shampoo and body wash he wanted; Catherine owned at least a dozen bottles and would never notice a drop missing from them.

Trowa listened to the rush of water for a moment before going and collecting Quatre's tote bag. He set Sandy on the nightstand and dumped out the remaining contents of the canvas tote into his own laundry hamper. He carried the whole thing to the hall closet, which also served as the extremely small laundry room. He transferred clothes into the washer in great, heaping armfuls. Whites, colors, jeans, everything went in together in a jumble, and Trowa flipped all the cycles to cold water to avoid pink socks.

Trowa took the hamper back into his room and set it back into the closet. He picked up Sandy from the nightstand and studied the bear's plastic eyes. For one wild moment he indulged in the ridiculous fantasy that if he just asked politely, Sandrock the teddy bear would tell him all Quatre's little secrets – but, then, Trowa realized it would be rude of Sandy to tell, and insane of him to keep thinking about it. Trowa gently placed the bear on top of the comforter.

He stepped out into the hall at the same moment the bathroom door opened. Warm steam billowed out past Quatre as stood in the doorway, momentarily distracted by trying to get his wrist brace back in place with only one free hand. He'd redressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing, and the fine gold strands of his hair were already beginning to fluff as they dried. Trowa came over and took the splint from Quatre and gently secured it into place.

"Thanks," said Quatre. He fiddled with one of the straps, pulling the velcro apart and then pressing it back together again.

Trowa nodded and took a step back, forcing himself away from the intoxicating lure of Quatre's fresh-scrubbed skin. The washer thrummed within the confines of the closet. Trowa pulled open the double doors and searched up within the highest shelves for the spare set of linens for the trundle bed in his room. He had to stretch on to his tip-toes to reach them, which set him puzzling to how Catherine managed to get them up there in the first place.

He turned with the bundle of linens balanced between one arm and his chest, and then he nearly bumped into Quatre, who had stolen up beside him unnoticed and silent over the sound of the washing machine. "Oh," said Trowa, and he started to take a half-step back.

Quatre pressed forward, leaning into him so abruptly that Trowa thought immediately that the boy was falling. The bedding dropped to the floor in a flutter as Trowa caught Quatre around the waist. Quatre tipped up toward him and looped both arms around his neck. The kiss was hard and insistent, and startled Trowa so that he could only stand there in shock.

Quatre pushed against him with all that soft, clean skin still slightly damp from the shower. He tightened his arms around Trowa's neck, clinging to him and stretched up on his toes in order to reach. "Quatre," he said. He tightened his hands around Quatre's waist, torn between pulling the boy closer and pushing him back.

Quatre responded with another kiss, searing with intensity and yet also tenderly clumsy. Quatre made a small sound in the back of his throat, something full of need and nerves that unhooked Trowa's resolve and had him clutching Quatre tight against him.

He ran his hand up the back of Quatre's shirt and swept his fingers across the damp skin, savoring the contact. Desire, hot and terrible, flushed his skin to sweltering and scrambled any hope of coherent thought. Trowa picked Quatre up and set him on top of the dryer, so the smaller boy would not have to stand on tip-toe just to kiss him. Beside them, the washer switched into a spin cycle.

Quatre's thigh pressed against his hip. It was all the encouragement he needed. Trowa closed his eyes and dissolved into the sensation of Quatre's mouth, pliable and willing, working against his. A thrill of pleasure shot out from his heart and swirled down, pooling between his legs. Trowa drew his hands to Quatre's side and then up the slim line of his chest, bunching the thin shirt material out of the way as he set to memorizing every inch of Quatre he could reach.

He broke from Quatre's lips and sought inside the soft circle of flesh just behind his ear. Trowa felt Quatre shiver beneath him as he lavished affection on that sensation spot. Quatre tipped his head to the side, exposing a line of pale throat, which Trowa kissed and nipped with abandon. The blonde gasped and tangled his right hand into the fabric of Trowa's shirt.

Trowa locked an arm around Quatre's lower back and gently pulled him off his perch. They stumbled together, the angle suddenly awkward, as neither wanted to separate long enough to walk. Trowa's solution, a rather clever one in his opinion, was to simply carry Quatre the short distance to the bedroom. He nudged the door somewhat closed with a foot before settling Quatre's slight weight on to the bed.

"God, Quatre," he murmured. Overcome with delight and lust, in equal parts wild and tender, Trowa fell upon him. He noted but did not fully appreciate Quatre's sudden silence, broken only by a single soft gasp when Trowa's roving hands found and caressed a pink circle of sensitive flesh. Trowa slowly drew Quatre's shirt up and over the boy's head and then bent his head low, applying tongue and teeth to the exposed expanse of chest.

An electric shock current of arousal ran and rushed along every inch of Trowa's body, filling him with a certain desperate need. He pressed against Quatre, who tossed a hand free and knocked Sandy to the floor with a fumbling gesture. His hand sought and found a fistful of the comforter, twisting it into a tight grip. The teddy bear tumbling to the floor jarred something loose in Trowa, and he slowly took note of the stiff tension in the small body beneath his, the anxious but determined way Quatre held himself.

"What?" Trowa drew a shuddering breath, fraught with the sudden difficulty of halting what had been a headlong rush. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Quatre, in a fragile, apprehensive sort of voice. He dropped his eyes away from Trowa's persistent attempts to look at him.

Trowa dropped his face into the crook of Quatre's neck. He nuzzled his lips into the soft fluff of Quatre's hair, which was still slightly damp and smelled faintly of shampoo. "Quatre," he groaned the name with a note of frustration. He felt the boy flinch beneath him and regretted at once his senseless behavior. "Talk to me. What is it?"

"Nothing," Quatre repeated. He dropped his hand Trowa's arm and tapped out a random pattern, betraying his nerves.

Trowa kissed Quatre's temple. "I'm not going to be mad at you, whatever it is. I promise."

The younger boy squirmed, as if to shift out from underneath him, but Trowa held firm. He tangled their legs together and kept a solid but gentle grip on Quatre's shoulder. Quatre shook his head wildly, and Trowa rose up on an elbow to avoid getting hit in the face. "Hey!"

Quatre stilled at once, recoiling at the sharp sound. "I'm sorry," Trowa said quickly. "Quatre, I'm sorry. I swear, I'm not mad. Just, please, what is it?" His heart, a sudden dead weight in his chest, ached terribly with the keen fear that Quatre felt nothing for him, felt nothing like the overwhelming tenderness that filled Trowa at every thought of Quatre. The boy might like him well enough, but… Trowa swallowed a sudden lump.

"I just, the other day. I wanted to make up for it. I thought, maybe, so, I tried. But I got so… and, but, I—" Quatre fell silent, twisting beneath Trowa to hide his face into the bed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into the blankets.

Trowa smoothed his hands over Quatre's shoulders and carefully turned him back around. "Hey… Don't," he said gently. "I told you, I'm not going to be mad." He stroked a hand over Quatre's forehead, brushing aside the pale bangs. He shifted and stretched until he could reach the football-lamp on the nightstand. Quatre winced and blinked at the sudden influx of brightness, and Trowa quickly turned the light off again. As he suspected, Quatre's eyes had gone almost entirely to pupil again.

Trowa rose up into a sitting position and found Quatre's shirt. "Here," he said.

Quatre clutched the fabric to his chest for a moment before slowly slipping the shirt on over his head. He had his eyes downcast in a forlorn expression that Trowa was loathed to see. "I'm sorry," he said.

Trowa cursed himself for getting carried away. "It's okay. Don't apologize. I should have known better."

Slowly, Quatre traced a finger across the blankets and over the back of Trowa's hand. Even that slight touch rekindled a shiver of longing that traced fire up and down his nerves. Trowa knew he should pull away and put some distance between them, to try and resettle his thoughts and drive away the incessant, hot want that threatened to squish his feeble reticence and resume their earlier pace. He knew that, and yet felt powerless to act.

"I don't understand," Quatre said slowly. "I feel so anxious, but, also, I…" He flushed a furious shade of pink and shifted his knee against Trowa in silent suggestion.

Trowa carefully untangled himself from Quatre and scooted toward the far edge of the bed. "You're not feeling well," Trowa said firmly, as much to remind Quatre as himself. "I shouldn't have done anything."

The blush darkened. "But," he protested softly. Quatre hesitantly lifted those too-wide and too-dark eyes to meet Trowa's concerned gaze. His tongue darted out over his bottom lip in a quick, nervous gesture. "But I…" Quatre turned his face away.

A distant, barely audible noise jolted Trowa's attention toward the door. He tensed, fingers gripping into the edge of the bed. Quatre tilted his face up expectantly when Trowa got to his feet. Trowa ran his fingers through Quatre's hair, quickly setting the tousled strands to right. There was nothing he could do about the boy's eyes, however. He leaned forward and whispered, right up against Quatre's ear, "Stay here."

Trowa picked Sandy up from the floor and set him into Quatre's arms. The little blonde wrapped himself around the bear and gave Trowa a wounded, anxious look. "But," he started to protest, and Trowa laid a finger against his lips.

"Catherine," he mouthed.

Quatre nodded. Trowa took one step to leave and, when Quatre made no motion to follow, slipped out into the hall. He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him and took a deep breath to settle the jangle of nerves swirling around inside him. The sheet set for the trundle bed lay forgotten in the hall, where Trowa had dropped them, and he took the time to fold them into a pile on top of the dryer. He also transferred his and Quatre's laundry into the dryer before going in search of Catherine.

He found his sister in the kitchen, putting away the last of her groceries. "Hi," she said, spotting him. "Where's Quatre? Wasn't he staying for dinner?"

Trowa nodded.

"Oh, okay," Catherine said. She set her hip against the counter and studied him for a long moment.

Trowa swallowed hard against a sudden rush of cold apprehension. She suspected something. He felt more certain of that than ever. He just stood there, silent and stupid and trying to look innocent. Trowa pulled open the refrigerator door and rooted out a can of soda, as if that was the only reason he'd come into the kitchen in the first place.

Catherine banged a large cook pot out from one of the cabinets and set it under the faucet to fill. "Well, dinner will be ready soon. I'm making spaghetti, your favorite."

When he was six, that was true. It was just another out-dated piece of information, like the football lamp that he'd never liked, not even when he was nine, and it was new. Trowa stepped toward her, intending to help, but she waved him away. "I got it," she said with a smile. "Why don't you two watch T.V. or something? Oh, wait, I know. Take Quatre with you to the video store."

She turned off the water and set the full pot of water on the stove. After twisting the burner to high, Catherine wiped her hands on a dishtowel and then breezed past Trowa into the living room. He trailed after her.

"Rent something we can all watch together, after dinner. Doesn't that sound nice?" She pulled the little clutch purse out of her bigger bag and broke it open. Catherine rifled through the assorted card slots until she found a bright orange laminated rectangle. "Here's my membership card."

Trowa reached for his back pocket, intending to file the card away into his wallet, but he belatedly remembered all of Quatre's cash still in his possession. He couldn't let Catherine see that; she had a pretty good idea of exactly how little money he was supposed to have. Trowa slipped the membership card into his pocket.

Catherine smiled and went back into the kitchen. He turned and reluctantly went back to his bedroom. He gave a soft scratch at the door, to warn Quatre, before pushing it open. Quatre lay curled around Sandy, the gold in his hair highlighted by the faint, hazy light that stretched between the weave of the dark curtains. He sat up when Trowa entered the room, shaky and unsure and eyes still too dark.

Trowa showed him the video card as a means of explanation. Quatre looked at it in puzzlement, and Trowa added a few gestures to try and convey what he wanted. Quatre shook his head. "I'll just stay here," he whispered.

Catherine wanted him to take Quatre. If he left without him, she'd be curious why. Trowa took Quatre's uninjured hand in both of his and gave it a slight squeeze of encouragement.

"I can't," Quatre said. "Trowa, I don't feel well. My head hurts. I'll stay here."

Trowa rubbed his thumb into the palm of Quatre's hand. His options were to leave Quatre here and hope Catherine somehow failed to notice, which was a doomed planned and he knew it, or drag Quatre along. That also meant hoping that Catherine stayed in the kitchen and didn't get a good look at Quatre, pale and miserable and clearly unwell. And what about dinner, and Catherine's idea for them all to watch a movie together? Trowa entertained several outlandish plans, most of which involved hiding Quatre somewhere in his room overnight and trying to convince Catherine the younger boy had gone home.

He'd just have to take the risk. Trowa absolutely did not have the heart to force Quatre out the door, and if Catherine noticed than, well, he'd just have to think of something. Trowa nodded and brushed a soft kiss against Quatre's forehead. He tucked his head close to Quatre's ear and whispered, "I'll be right back."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Whew! FFN was messing up and not showing me any story stats for a few days. I was afraid everyone had stopped reading or something weird! Thanks for reviewing, guys. I super appreciate the support!

I'll try to keep updating quickly like I have been. My new year's resolution was to write more!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	54. Spoken

LSC / 01-07-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Four: Spoken)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 54

**Spoken**

* * *

The whole time he was gone, Trowa worried. He pulled a movie off the new release shelf at random and visibly annoyed the clerk with his silence; they usually assumed he was just being rude, and in this case Trowa supposed that was true. He tapped an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel at the first red light and the next. They were all red, conspiring against him no doubt, delaying his ability to get back to the apartment and postpone the inevitable.

When he returned, Trowa found the bedroom empty. Sandy stared back at him from the bed, the bear almost hidden behind a pillow. Trowa went back out into the living room and then followed the soft sound of conversation with no small amount of dread, but the dark worry cluttering up his thoughts cleared when he heard Catherine laugh. That had to be a good sign. Trowa pushed open the kitchen door.

A great cloud of steam rose up out of the sink as Catherine drained the spaghetti noodles. "Hi, you're back!" she said cheerfully over her shoulder to Trowa.

Quatre was leaned up against the stove and lazily stirring a simmering sauce pan. He tilted his attention toward Trowa and gave the barest shake of his head, whatever that meant. All Trowa cared about were his eyes, those twin pools of aquamarine that looked perfectly normal in the bright kitchen light. Trowa spotted his can of soda, opened and abandoned on the counter, and he grabbed it out from behind Quatre before it could accidentally spill.

Catherine ran cold water over the colander full of noodles. "What does your dad do, that he's overseas?" She asked Quatre, apparently picking up whatever conversation tangent they'd been having before Trowa interrupted.

"He runs the company," Quatre said. "Winner Consolidated Energy?"

"Oh!" said Catherine. She set the colander across the rim of the pot to catch the excess drips. "I've seen that office building downtown. The tall one with the big W, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one." High spots of color bloomed across Quatre's face, the only outward betrayal of his sudden discomfort. Trowa felt absurdly like he was eavesdropping and couldn't fail to note the resolute way Quatre kept his eyes on his task. Trowa thought perhaps Quatre would lie, when questioned like this, but from the boy's discomfort Trowa felt certain that was not the case.

"What about your mom? What does she do?" Catherine set aside the noodles and turned to take the wooden spoon from Quatre. He relinquished it and took a step back, letting her have reign over the stove once more.

"Nothing," said Quatre. He made a sudden motion, as if shift something out from under his arm; Trowa thought at once of Sandy, lying across the bed just a few rooms away, and recognized the empty, grasping gesture. Quatre clenched his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. "I don't have one. She died."

"Oh," said Catherine. She gave him a startled, guilty look. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine," Quatre said quickly. It was a lie, Trowa knew it was a lie, but meant so sweetly and genuinely that it made Catherine smile nonetheless.

"But who are you staying with now, if your dad's away?"

"By myself." Quatre said it simply, so ingenuously, that Trowa understood at once why he'd indulged Catherine's questions with the truth.

"Really? You poor thing." She clicked off the stove. From the corner of her eye she watched Quatre, taking in the dusty shadows under his eyes, the loose way his clothes fell over his thin body, and the cautious way he held himself.

Trowa tried to see these things as she might, absent of knowledge regarding the withdrawal symptoms, the cold and bleak hospital, all those little worried that roamed within Quatre and made him look so fragile and strong all at the same time. Trowa tried, but failed, to see Quatre as a stranger would.

"Excuse us for a second, Quatre. Can you get the bread out of the oven? Pot holders are just there next to you, top drawer."

"Sure," he said. Catherine beckoned Trowa to follow her out of the kitchen. Quatre and Trowa locked eyes for a second, silently swapping worry and reassurance in mutual understanding of the sudden gamble they were taking.

Catherine led him into the hall, where the whirling sound of the dryer threatened to drown out her quiet words. She said only his name before her eyes caught on the folded bundle of sheets sitting on top of the dryer, right where Trowa had left them.

"Looks like you're two steps ahead of me," she said. He couldn't read her tone, but he knew he didn't like it. Catherine fluffed her hair back from her shoulders and looked up at him for a moment, her eyes blue and clear and more than a little melancholic.

"If Quatre wants to stay here tonight, that's fine with me, but I wish you would have," she hesitated, so clearly about to have said something like _I wish you would have told me._ She took a breath to settle herself and tried again. "I wish you would have let me know. You're almost eighteen, I know that you're almost all grown up, but you're my little brother. We're all we have, you know? I'm responsible for you."

Trowa shuffled his hands into his pockets and stared at the carpet before her earnest gaze unnerved him. He wanted to say something to her, something like, _you don't need to take care of me_, or even just a contrite and humble, _thank you for taking care of me_. But he couldn't do that; he couldn't even look at her.

"I'm glad you have a friend," she said kindly. "And it's good of you to want to help him like this." She tipped forward and graced a light kiss on his cheek. He'd been taller than her for a few years now, but only recently did the age difference between them seem so small. When he'd been fourteen and all alone, and Catherine eighteen and suddenly his legal guardian thanks to his mother's propensity for vodka and dislike of seat belts, she'd seemed an impossibly wise and imposing adult.

Now he, being that old himself, he understood nothing as to how she'd managed to seem so collect, so in control and mature with the circumstances. Her actions mystified him. Her patience, her understanding, the infallibly bright and optimistic way she handled his silence and misery and hospitalizations - all of it confused and overwhelmed Trowa, and he felt a terribly stinging guilt for deceiving her like this. She deserved the truth, and she deserved to hear him tell her; not some stupid gesture or an empty nod, but actual words, in the voice he'd hidden from her for so long.

Sorrow and terror in equal parts clogged his throat and refused to let any sound past. Trowa swallowed sandpaper and felt a blind, drowning dampness threaten his composure. He managed a single, small jerk of his head.

"Come on," she said. "Dinner's almost ready. We'll just have to figure out something about tomorrow. You have your doctor's appointment, remember? I planned on us both going there straight from work... I guess you could drop me off instead... Well, it's nothing we can't work out."

Catherine set Trowa to helping Quatre in the kitchen while she rearranged some furniture to create three place settings. They lacked a dining room, or even a dining room table, and took their meals on the couch normally. Catherine expressed little interest in fully furnishing the apartment, which had a bare and empty look due to her scant decorating. Trowa always wondered if she operated under a Spartan sense of minimalism or if Catherine considered this apartment temporary, and if she did, was that showing optimism, that Trowa and her could move somewhere else, maybe that she could even go back to school, or was that a rare glimpse of pessimism, that she expected Trowa to ultimately end up in a different hospital, one that catered to adults instead of children, so she'd have to move again to keep close.

His best streak had been the entire time between thirteen, when everyone assumed he'd accidentally fallen from the roof, and fifteen, when it'd been pretty hard to find an excuse for the half-bottle of pills they'd pumped out of his stomach. Or maybe he should count that as between eight, when he stopped talking and had been sent through a gauntlet of child psychiatrists, and fifteen, since no one had questioned his sanity after his fall. Except his mother, who thanked him for the effort but recommended a taller building next time, and then smiled sweetly and said, as always, _don't tell anyone I said that_.

* * *

Trowa woke slowly, drifting up out of a forgotten dream and into confusion. Pale moonlight, barely strong enough to create dark shadows, meant nothing to him in regards to whether or not he was supposed to be awake; working breakfast shift often meant he was up and out of bed by four, when not even the deep purple of the earliest sunrises was visible.

"Trowa? Are you awake?" The whisper came drifting up from the floor. Trowa rolled on to his side and dipped a hand to the low trundle in answer, brushing across the bare skin of Quatre's arm. A rustle of fabric accompanied the pop and groan of the mattress, and then a vaguely Quatre-shaped shadow appeared into view.

"I can't sleep," he said. His voice soft, tense, and all together strange. It sent a thrill of some unknown anticipation through Trowa. Maybe this was the dream, and he'd awake in a few minutes in a different dark room, alone and quickly forgetting why he shouldn't be.

And then Quatre was sliding between the sheets and into the narrow little bed, and Trowa had to scoot back against the wall to make room. Their legs tangled together in a comfortable fight for space that ended with Quatre fit close up against him. "You're warm," Quatre said. His breath pooled into the hollow of Trowa's neck.

_Were you cold? _Trowa rubbed a hand up the length of Quatre's arm, feeling gooseflesh along the way. Catherine loved her air-conditioning, perhaps a little too much at times. Quatre nuzzled against him, his hair brushing Trowa's cheek with the motion.

No matter how warm Quatre claimed he felt, no matter how much Quatre seemed to heat under his touch, Trowa felt frozen from the first moment Quatre's lips found his. He held still under the boy's affections, holding on to so much tense caution that it was Quatre who finally asked, "What's wrong?"

But Trowa could no sooner whisper than yell, even though he knew Catherine had to be asleep.

"It's okay," Quatre said. Something in the way he said it made that the reassurance extended beyond Quatre's own concern and into Trowa's silence. He shifted against Trowa. "I'm not anxious now."

Trowa gripped a hand to Quatre's hip and pulled him even closer, the gesture both a question and an answer of his own. Quatre let out a startled gasp against Trowa's lips before pressing to him with a silent, enthusiastic agreement. It started slow, just the soft, exploratory motions that Quatre made against him in the dark, as if finding the limits of where his body ended and where Trowa's began. They were both quiet, for much the same reason. Each muffled and muted sound that Quatre made was an assault on Trowa's resolute self-control, until finally it broke apart and left him desperate for more. More touch, more heat, more of Quatre, all that he could reach and possess and consume with his furious desire. Clothes became an obstacle to be removed, the blankets a hopeless jumble, and their own warmth more than enough to make up for the lack.

Trowa bit lightly at Quatre's neck, the delicate skin equal parts sweet and salty. He worked his lips directly into that soft, sensitive little crook just behind the ear, right where it made Quatre's breath catch. "I love you." He mouthed the words, their sound hardly more than silence, but Quatre gasped, and Trowa knew he'd heard.

After that, no other words were necessary.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

A new reader! Hooray! Welcome, thank you, I'm blushing from all the fangirling. And, old readers (Jazzy, Amy, Snowdragon, all the rest!), thanks for your continued support!

This chapter ended up being difficult to write. Sorry this one ended up being short-ish. I'll get started on the next one right away! This chapter (and the previous one) deals with a writing problem I'd nicknamed "The Catherine Knot," so thanks to May for helping resolve it with a solution that didn't involve cutting her in half. (Historians aren't very good comedians, but we try…)

Incidentally I was concerned that people might not have caught a subtle cameo appearance in chapter 51, Zechs's last chapter? I worry about stuff like that. I'll work harder as a writer to make things more clear in the future!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	55. Written Down

LSC / 01-09-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Five: Written Down)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 55

**Written Down**

* * *

"Well, there you are," said Duo. By the guilty way that Quatre startled at the dry words, Duo had failed to keep his concern in check. What did the boy expect, wandering off like that will little more than a sloppy note saying _gone with trowa_ followed by a crooked little smiley face? That was the sort of inconsiderate nonsense that Duo pulled.

"Sorry," said Quatre. He didn't especially look it. An infuriatingly adorable smile peeked out from the edges of his mouth as he stood there, wide-eyed and innocent under Duo's curious stare. When Quatre came closer, Duo was pretty sure he spotted a tell-tale red mark half-hidden under his shirt collar.

"I need some new clothes. Can you help me find the mall or something?" Quatre asked. He smiled again, all shy and cute and oh-so-impossible to stay angry with for long. "You're my navigator."

So Duo agreed, his ego suitably flattered and pampered by Quatre's deferential trust that he knew where he was going. He was, in fact, merely quick at reading bus schedules. "Why do you need new clothes?" he asked, once they were on the bus and moving.

"Catherine's already seen me in these." Quatre said absently. He was looking out the window as if something out there could possibly be more riveting than Duo's undivided attention. Duo followed his line of sight but could see nothing more than a tall, dark office building shooting up into the sky. Even when he craned his neck and draped himself over Quatre's shoulder trying to match up his stare with the younger boy's, he saw nothing more interesting or important.

"Did you get your bling back from Trowa?"

"My what? Oh. Some of it. I let him keep some, too. I didn't like carrying it all around with me anyway."

"How'd you get that much?" Duo kicked at the base of the bus seat. "You knock over a bank or something in a past life?"

"No," said Quatre slowly. His cheeks dusted over with pink. "I told you; it's birthday money."

"Since the beginning of time? Come on, Quatre," Duo lowered his voice. "I counted it. You had over a thousand dollars."

Quatre sunk low into his seat. Only when he crossed his arms over his chest did Duo realize they were empty; no teddy bear there, or at his feet, or in the seat next to him. The wounded sort of silence that followed Quatre's lack of an answer made Duo feel contrite for pushing the matter in the first place.

Rather than apologize, which Duo figured he probably should do, he felt a small shot of vindictive accomplishment. Which then made him feel like an asshole, so Duo said, "Sorry," and followed it up with an airy and dismissive, "Boy's gotta have mystery, I guess." It was a nice compromise. Maybe he was still a little mad at Quatre for making him worry like he had.

Maybe the kid just came from a rich family and just felt guilty about it, since Duo so clearly was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Maybe he'd been part of some teenage criminal underground, robbing little old ladies of their wallets. Nah, that was totally something Zechs would do. Hadn't Relena even said he'd been in a gang? And he knew that drug dealer/psychiatrist; that's the sort of skeezy bastard St Hel' should have hired, Duo decided, rather than trust in Dickie's Holier Than Thou degree in superiority. And good riddance, while he was thinking of that pompous therapist and every single stupid nurse - good fucking riddance.

They stepped off the bus into an ominous grey afternoon, one than threatened rain but at least beat down the oppressive heat they'd been cursed with so far. Duo pulled the brim of his baseball cap low over his face. A bewildering exchange of pedestrian crosswalks across a snarled intersection later, the mall stretched out before them with promises of window-shopping. Quatre, oddly enough, seemed to know where he was going once they got inside. Duo nearly called him out on it before he remembered that stupid hospital day trip. He thought it seemed somewhat risky, like they were revisiting the scene of a crime, but they were just two teenagers among the throng. Mothers dragged reluctant younger children through the back-to-school sale racks and goaded older ones away from whirling displays of fancy electronics.

Duo trailed after Quatre as the boy went from store to store in search of whatever his particular fashion inclination seemed to be, apparently whatever was the absolute cheapest. Duo amused himself by making silly faces at a toddler strapped into a stroller while the baby's mom wasn't looking. It was fun, right up until the girl burst into sudden tears, and Duo had to pretend he'd been examining a nearby rack of flip-flops. Apparently he made a poor baby-sitter.

As they shuffled from one store to the next, Duo's attention caught and stuck on a window display outside a black-light infused store that steadily pumped terrible alt-rock into the air. "Oh, my God," he said. "Quatre, Quatre, look at this." Across the front of a black shirt the small white type read, _I don't suffer from insanity. I'm enjoying every minute of it_.

Quatre's lips moved silently for a moment before he grinned. "Do you want it?"

"Oh, my God," Duo said again. "I'd never stop laughing!"

Quatre disappeared into the store. Duo hurried after him. "Oh, come on. Don't waste your money on me. One black shirt's as good as the other."

"You know you want it," Quatre countered. He squeezed through the small, crowded aisles until he got to the right section. Side-stepping a girl with electric blue hair, Quatre searched for and found one of the shirts in Duo's size.

"Are you sure?" Duo asked as they stood in line.

"Yeah," said Quatre. "Call it an early Christmas present."

"Well, damn. Thanks!" said Duo. As soon as Quatre had the shirt paid for, Duo swapped it out for the one he was wearing and stuffed the old one in the shopping bag. Changing clothes in the middle of the mall, he was just that classy. "How do I look?"

Quatre just shook his head with an amused smile. Duo caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window, once they were back outside the store, and he couldn't help but grin. "You know, Heero's going to hate this shirt. I just know it. I think that makes me love it all the more."

The smile drained from Quatre's face. A squiggly line of worry replaced it. "Oh?" he said carefully.

"Sure," said Duo. He'd made a mistake there, talking about Heero in front of Quatre. Rather than make a joke out of it and risk burying himself deeper into trouble, Duo pretended to be fascinated by a kiosk full of hats. He thoroughly attempted to distract Quatre by making the boy try on an assortment of the hats, each one more ridiculous on him than the last, until Quatre laughed and forgot to be worried.

When Quatre assessed that he had enough shirts to fool Catherine, or whatever his plan was, they left. The dark sky menaced with thunder as they hurried on to the bus, but the threat of rain held off until they were nearly halfway to downtown. Duo swapped his shirt out once again, as he didn't want the new one to get soaking wet within an hour of owning the damn thing.

Quatre frowned out the window, as if he held the weather personally responsible for every inconvenience this represented to his certainly empty schedule. Or, actually, that's how Duo felt; fuck the rain. He gave Quatre a careful once-over, noting again that unless Sandy could turn invisible, Quatre's ever-present bear was entirely un-present.

Duo nudged him with an elbow. "Hey."

"Hm?"

Duo opened his mouth and, for once, lacked words. Bizarre. He grinned and tried again, "Everything all right?"

"Sure. Thanks for taking me shopping. I got everything I needed."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh."

"Do you feel okay?"

Quatre frowned at him, with much the same bewildered confusion that Relena always wore when confronted with a puzzle missing its pieces. Although Quatre, he figured, was unlikely to start up a banshee impersonation because of it. Or, fuck, Duo surely hoped not. He had to stop trying to jinx things.

Quatre's expression suddenly cleared. "Oh!" he said, in a much different tone. He carefully shifted his shopping bags into the crook of his left elbow, well clear of the wrist brace. He dug through the front pocket of his jeans and then tried to get open the orange prescription bottle without much success one-handed. Duo took it from him, wrenched off the top, and then tapped a single pill out into Quatre's open palm. Quatre dry-swallowed the pill with a grimace. "I'd nearly forgotten. Thanks."

He hadn't meant to serve as a walking alarm clock for medicine checks, but Duo figured he could take the credit for it anyway. "No problem."

"I'm feeling much better," Quatre assured him. He blushed a furious sort of pink as he re-pocketed the bottle.

"Yeah? Well, good. Awesome." He cuffed a hand lightly over the boy's shoulder. "So don't scare me like that again."

The blush darkened into molten embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Are you staying with Trowa now?"

Quatre hesitated before nodding. "When I can, I guess. Do you mind?"

"Nah. We're not roommates anymore. What about Catherine?"

"She's okay with it."

"How'd you pull that one off? Does she know you're macking on her brother?"

If Quatre's cheeks became any redder, they might burst into flame. "No. I don't think so. I don't know. It isn't like that."

Duo lifted his brows in an exaggerated feint of surprise. "It isn't? So what's this, a bruise? Trowa beating on you with his fists instead of his lips?" He tugged Quatre's shirt collar to expose the hickey.

"No, of course not!" He sounded so shocked it made Duo laugh. Quatre clapped a hand to the hollow of his collar bone, right over the little mark. "Leave it alone, Duo."

"Why? Why can't I have my fun? You're the one who shot down my plans. I mean, not that they were all that great in the first place." Duo scowled. He knew it wasn't fair, to take out his frustrations on Quatre, but damned was it hard to stop. "You said we're in this together, but I'm the one stuck just sitting around watching TV - alone. Zechs is off doing whatever the fuck he wants, you've got Trowa, and what about me? At least at the hospital I had shit to do. This sucks."

"Duo, please, keep your voice down."

"Oh, fuck off," Duo grumbled. But quietly.

Quatre said nothing. He, in fact, looked close to tears as he watched the rain drops streak across the window. Duo pretended not to notice or care, until finally an annoying thorn of regret stabbed him into action. "Sorry," he muttered. "That wasn't very fair of me to say.

"It's okay," Quatre said softly. It sounded like a lie, but Duo couldn't bring himself to apologize again. The first had been hard enough. He tasted bitterness and heartbreak, and his traitorous stomach growled hopefully in response, like he was about to conjure a cake from thin air and consume the whole thing in one delightful binge-eating splurge of stupidity.

Previously on the adventures of Duo the runaway crazy patient, he'd spent a few days wandering around lost until finally scrounging his way into enough change for a payphone. Heero had tricked him into thinking it'd all be okay before giving his address. He'd even gone so far as to seem nice about it, fixing him a hot meal and letting him stay the night in Heero's own bed. They lay entwined together listening to a spring thunderstorm, and Duo made the mistake of feeling safe and loved and happy.

Rain always reminded Duo of that night, and he hated everything about it. He hated the roll of thunder and the distant flashes of light, he hated the streaks across the bus windows and the big wet puddles in the street. That April night lay shattered and broken, a twisted heap of devastated memory, because stupid Heero ruined everything.

* * *

Heero shuffled past the receptionist's desk in a daze and did his best to ignore the sickly-sweet smile of sympathy she directed his way. Apparently they were on better terms now than an hour ago, when she first looked at him in surprise and said, _Duo Maxwell isn't a patient here anymore_, and Heero responded with raw, bleeding anger when the situation became clear. He was lucky she had not begun intake forms for him right then and there. With it being Sunday, and the doctors absent, some confusion followed in which no one could give him a straight answer. The news that Duo had runaway again only surprised him a little. It served mostly to transfer his fury from the hospital administration to the braided idiot.

What sent him staggering outside in a dazed stupor, however, was finding out that Duo had runaway the week before. Not the night before, not a few days ago… No, an entire week. _I'm sorry, Mr, Yuy, but you're not family. We had no legal obligation to contact you. _They hadn't contacted him last time, either, but Duo had.

Duo knew where he lived. He knew his phone number. He knew where he worked.

Duo had not contacted him.

Heero took a swipe at the bushes and earned a scratched hand for the trouble. A woman's laugh followed. He turned quickly, not expecting company, and spotted her standing nearby. She had an elegant knot of platinum blonde hair at her neck and crisp, ice-blue eyes that watched him with amusement, and something about her seemed familiar.

The woman waved an expansive gesture toward the bushes, a snaking plume of cigarette smoke following her hand. "Now what did they ever do you?" she asked. She gave a low, throaty laugh.

"Do I know you?" Heero asked. The tight knot in his stomach made it impossible to blunt the sharp edges of his question.

The woman lifted one pale brow. "Turn around, let me get a look at you."

Heero obediently turned in place, arms stiff at his sides. She laughed again, in a softer way, full of teasing delight. "Aren't you a treat! No, I don't think we've met. I'm Charlotte."

"Heero," he said.

"Now," she dropped her cigarette to the ground and tamped it out with the round toe of her scarlet pumps. "You're much too young to have a child here. So, who is it? A brother? Sister?"

"Friend."

"Really? How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Ah, you are young."

Heero frowned at her, unable to understand her tone. She sounded disappointed.

The woman considered him for a moment and drew another cigarette from the pack in her purse. She hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for Heero to react, before cupping a lighter to the tip. "Much too young," she repeated. At her feet sat several white department store bags, and Heero noted the sleeve of a blue dress shirt poking out from one. "My son's," she explained, catching him looking. "I guess he didn't want them." She blew out a smoky sigh.

"I see," said Heero. He normally did not converse with strangers, but something about her nagged at him. A memory tried to work through the numb haze of his thoughts, some barely noticed observation he'd made and filed and forgotten.

"I'm going to see if I can't return them. When I get my hands on him, the only thing he'll be wearing is a military uniform anyway. I've still got a few weeks before the tuition deposit's forfeit."

"I… see," said Heero again.

The woman, Charlotte, laughed. "My clever son managed to escape from this place last week. Can you believe that? Christ, they haven't even the decency to sound ashamed about it either. Like it's my fault for raising a kid who'd run off."

The memory jarred loose with enough force to make Heero dizzy. Tuesday, on the way home from work, on the bus, right there in front of him, and before that, last time he'd visited Duo – the boy had been there as well; tall, blonde, ice-blue eyes, clear features, they even stood similarly, the weight shifted to one hip and chin held high and haughty. Heero's own jumbled thoughts confused him, but one thing was clear. It couldn't be a coincidence that this boy, this woman's son, disappeared right at the same time as Duo.

Heero forced himself to nod. He wasn't even sure if she'd asked a question, but nodding seemed like the right response. It made her laugh again, at least.

"Well, Heero. Nice to meet you. Let me know when you get a little older," she said, with a smile that could be nothing other than flirtatious. Heero barely noticed. He nodded again and watched her leave with an armful of shopping bags.

Heero turned and marched back through the glass doors. The receptionist looked up at him, startled, and adjusted her glasses several times. "Yes?" she said. "Can I help you?"

"I want to visit another patient."

"Okay." She blinked rapidly and shuffled the papers on her desk. "Name?"

He went blank for a moment, thoughts stirring too rapidly to be of any use. "Quatre," he said at last.

"Last name?" she prompted.

"Winman. No, Winner."

She typed something into her computer. "Oh, wow. Um," she said, leveling a look up at him over the rim of her glasses. "I'm sorry—"

"Nevermind." He could see the answer on her face. "My mistake."

When Heero boarded the bus to head back home, he snagged a route map to study. He unfolded it against the seat and studied the sprawling multicolored lines. He found the auto shop where he worked and slowly traced a finger along the corresponding bus route. Where exactly had he seen that woman's son? Heero considered it carefully, but he'd been tired and distracted and not paying much attention. A sudden horrifying thought grabbed him; what if Duo had been on that bus, and Heero just hadn't noticed?

Slowly, Heero folded the route map back together. He had to think about this calmly. He couldn't think about it now and stay calm. Therefore, he wouldn't think about it.

Heero scanned every occupant of the bus. He took of each new addition as more and more passengers boarded the further east into the city they traveled. His eyes searched out the window at the countless faces on the sidewalk and in the cars. A head of blonde hair, man or woman, sent a small jolt of electricity racing through him. By the time he reached his own stop and trudged the short distance home, he nerves were shot to hell.

He pulled a handful of coupon mailers from his mailbox and deposited them immediately into the lobby trashcan. While he waited for the elevator, however, Heero dug them back out and searched each one more thoroughly, in case a note from Duo had fallen between the pages.

His keys bounced against the sloped curve of the bowl he kept by the door specifically to hold them. Bounced, and fell to the floor. When Heero bent to retrieve them, he noted with a detached wonder that his hand shook.

Heero went from room to room of the apartment lifting all the cheap plastic blinds, so that every room lay exposed to the street below. The influx of sunlight only made the stark furnishings and utter lack of decor seem colder. Heero fetched the notebook and pen from his nightstand and sat down at the kitchen counter to work.

Heero flipped over the current list, which read _Ways to Tell Someone Their Baby is Attractive_ (first item, _your baby's face is not as red as it was last week_). He filled out the top with the heading for his new project, _Places Duo Could Be_, and then stared down at the blank lines. He normally found lists reassuring. They helped organize his thoughts. It reduced interpersonal interaction to the same sort of mechanic schematics he understood without effort.

_My Apartment_, Heero wrote. He couldn't think of anything else to add. He flipped to a clean sheet of paper instead and titled it, _Reasons Duo Has Not Contacted Me_.

This list came easier, and he spent several minutes in the quiet of his apartment, listening to the reassuring scratch of pen across paper. Only when he reached the end of the page did Heero stop. He already felt calmer about the situation, despite the horrifying list of scenarios he had created.

Top of the list, _I made him return to the hospital in April_. Bottom of the list, _he is injured and unable to communicate_. Somewhere in the middle, an entire line where his normally precise writing grew sloppy. _He is now in a relationship with: Quatre, Wufei, Unknown Tall Blonde._ He crossed out the first two names. More reassuring items on the list followed; _he has forgotten my address, he has forgotten my phone number, he is unable to find a telephone._

Heero turned the notebook over and wrote at the top of a new page, _Ways to Find Duo_. He filled two entire pages with ideas, some realistic (_retrace bus route from Tuesday_), some more confusing that useful (_find Quatre or Wufei_) and some he had to immediately cross out (_file missing person report_). When he finished writing, Heero set the notebook to the side and consulted his calendar. "Laundry" it told him. The item had been carried over from yesterday, when he'd taken on an extra shift at work to ensure he had today clear. Duo's name, written in all-caps and circled several times, nearly overwhelmed the tiny addition to the bottom of Sunday's square.

Heero looked at his upcoming schedule. Then, carefully, he wrote "look for Duo" and drew an arrow across to fill out the rest of the week.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I should have thought of what I'd say here earlier, when I wasn't this sleepy. Oh, well. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	56. Making Do

LSC / 01-11-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Six: Making Do)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 56

**Making Do**

* * *

Quatre alternated where he spent his time over the next few days out of a vain hope of soothing out some of Duo's dark mood but without much luck. Trowa didn't like it, for starters, even though he acknowledged the prudence in not making Catherine suspicious. Or, Quatre hoped that was the case; it was hard to tell, sometimes, exactly what Trowa was thinking, and they weren't often so alone that Trowa felt comfortable talking to him. At night it was different, when Trowa's silence took on an entirely different meaning, and each touch and kiss reaffirmed everything in Quatre's heart. Duo feigned indifference and slowly awkwardness formed between them despite Quatre's best intentions. Duo acted like it was fine, that he didn't care, but Quatre felt guilty nevertheless.

It worked out for the best that he spent some nights hunkered across the sofa in the doctor's backroom, because his symptoms had a nasty habit of flaring up without warning. A panic attack took him by complete surprise one night, just after dinner with Catherine, and he was forced to hide in Trowa's room under the excuse of a sudden migraine. It was a near miss.

Zechs proved an uneasy roommate, frequently gone without saying where, mood increasingly mercurial, and more often than not exchanging heated words with Duo, who couldn't resist prodding the situation from bad to worse. Quatre tried to get between them during one explosive argument over, all of things, the television remote, and caught an elbow to the face for the trouble. They both apologized to him with apparent sincerity and even set up an unspoken truce, which seemed to revolve mostly around not talking to each other. Quatre couldn't think of a good excuse to give Catherine for the resulting black eye, and sat around all day Saturday with a bag of ice on his face waiting for the swelling to recede.

He honestly didn't know whose elbow had created the offending bruise, which turned out to be a good thing when Trowa saw it on Sunday. Zechs was gone, he'd left early that morning looking downright respectable (Duo's words) in a crisp dress shirt. That left Duo and Quatre to spend several frantic and terse minutes trying to convince Trowa it'd been an accident, but Duo looked so guilty that Trowa showed an uncharacteristic amount of fury. Quatre noticed several times that Trowa grit his teeth, as if he was going to yell at Duo but had to bite back the words.

Finally Trowa either believed them or let the matter go, and the three of them ate lunch and then caught a matinee together. By the long sideways looks Trowa kept giving him, Quatre knew he'd have preferred they do something else, maybe take the car out for a lazy afternoon drive, but Quatre wanted to keep Duo entertained. Maybe if he fought away Duo's restless boredom, maybe he could forestall what felt like an inevitable disaster. Maybe Quatre could find Heero first, and feel out the situation; Heero could have changed his mind about it. He wouldn't turn Duo back in to the hospital this time. But he didn't know where Heero lived or how to get a hold of him, even if the idea was any good.

After the movie they dropped Duo off downtown. Zechs stood outside in the alley steadily working his way through a cigarette, and he gave the car a half-wave of acknowledgement. Quatre waved back, heartened by the apparently civil exchange that Duo had with the tall blonde before disappearing inside. Once Trowa had the car back out on the street, he asked, "Which one of them hit you?" in a low, gravelly voice.

"I told you, it was an accident."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Just let it go," Quatre said.

"Was it Zechs?"

"No."

Trowa's mouth pressed into a thin line. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough that the plastic popped. "So it was Duo."

"I told you, I don't know. It was an _accident_."

"You're staying with me tonight."

Quatre sunk low into his seat. They already planned on that, but the finite way that Trowa said it made him feel contrary and stubborn. His hands kneaded into his thighs, the fingers itching for and demanding soft fur. He'd decided to leave Sandy at Trowa's, no matter where he went, and half the time he regretted that decision. His fear of drawing too much attention or, worse yet, losing Sandy somewhere in the strange and crowded city, that fear overwhelmed whatever anxious worry consumed him at the separation. He was going to feel anxious either way, unless he was with Trowa, except in situations like this where Trowa was the reason he worried.

Trowa glanced sideways. "What are you going to tell Catherine?"

"I don't know."

"You have to tell her something."

"It's barely noticeable now." Quatre flipped down the visor and looked at himself in the small vanity mirror. "It's fine."

Trowa muttered under his breath, a strange and sulky gesture since whatever words he ever spoke were only meant for Quatre to hear anyway. They rode the rest of the way in uneasy silence, but Trowa apologized later with a simple touch against his arm. No words, since they weren't alone, but Quatre understood the gesture and the look well enough. He considered pretending otherwise, to lure a real apology out of Trowa later, but with Catherine around that later could end up being tomorrow, and he hated the idea of fighting with Trowa for that long.

If Catherine noticed his eye, she said nothing. After dinner she did, however, ask if he was ready for tomorrow. For the first day of school, which Quatre had completely forgotten all about, and had to recover from a blank-faced response. By the tension rolling off Trowa, he'd forgotten as well. Quatre's numerous lies to Catherine, all of them stacked precariously on top of each other in between slivers of truth, threatened to topple with her innocent inquiry. Rather than let that happen, Quatre pretended to just be noticing the time, and claimed he had to go home. To rest up. For school.

"Well, if you promise to go to bed early, you can still stay over. I wasn't trying to get rid of you." She tempered the words with a warm smile. "Trowa and I can drop you off in the morning on our way to work. I'm off by three anyway, so we could come get you, too."

"No, that's okay. Thanks, though. Maybe another night," Quatre said quickly.

Trowa's face darkened for just a moment before clearing into a carefully neutral expression. He retrieved the car keys under admonishment from Catherine to return right away.

"It's okay" Quatre tried to reassure him, once they were alone in the car. "Zechs knows the area. I'll figure something out. She just caught me off guard." Zechs had, in fact, given him the name of a school once before, but Quatre had forgotten it entirely. Maybe he should start taking notes.

"Catherine won't let me take off during the day if she knows I'm not going to be with you."

"That's okay. We can see each other in the evenings and on weekends still. And Catherine said she doesn't mind if I stay over on weeknights."

"So that's it?" Trowa asked quietly. "You'll just… pretend to go? Let her drop you off and pick you up?

"Sure. If that's what it takes." Quatre's mind was already working out a plan, with the same brittle and determined efficiency he'd worked out his escape in the first place. He'd go shopping with Duo again tomorrow and get a backpack. He'd get a notebook, too, and start recording his lies. He'd commit each one to memory so thoroughly that they would become the truth. He liked Catherine's impression of him better than the truth anyway.

Trowa tapped his fingers across the steering wheel. "That seems risky."

"I'm only sixteen, Trowa. I can't get out of it."

The sullen expression on Trowa's face disappeared into shadow as they went under a highway overpass. "It's too risky."

"So then I won't stay over on weeknights."

They were stopped at a red light, and Trowa looked over at him briefly. Green eyes locked solidly on his bruised face. "No," said Trowa. He returned his attention to the road. "Don't do that. I want you with me."

Warmth fluttered its way up out of Quatre's heart at the softly-spoken words. He felt his cheeks flush and had to look away, biting his lip against a smile. "Okay," he agreed.

* * *

Duo swung his arms for balance as he walked along the narrow ledge of curb between the sidewalk and the street. He'd met Quatre at their corner, tucked up against the low brick wall that divided the school grounds from the street, as was his recent habit. "Did I tell you I'm like ninety-nine percent sure Zechs is sneaking off to church on Sundays?"

Quatre hitched the straps of his backpack into a more comfortable position. The best part of pretending to be a student was the covert opportunity it provided to carry Sandy everywhere. "Really?" He squinted as the morning sun struck off a passing car and glinted sharply into his eyes. "How's that?"

"Like, ninety-five percent sure. So, last Saturday night he went out to a club – and wouldn't even try to sneak me in with him, that smarmy bastard – and came back ridiculously late and incredibly drunk, but wouldn't you know it if he didn't get up early, shower, and disappear looking all meek and God-fearing in respectable clothing. Every Sunday! Well, all, what, two of them, I guess. Still. Pretty sure. Must be some weird masochist guilt complex, or he's crazier than us all. I mean, why else would you get up that early with a hangover?"

It was nice enough weather for a walk, so they bypassed the bus stop and kept going, meandering through the streets like any two kids walking home from school. Except that Catherine had just dropped him off an hour ago, so technically they were like any teens playing hooky. Quatre didn't want to quibble away the comfortable feeling of normalcy, especially since he left Trowa in a good mood and found Duo the same. Usually switching his time between them made one or the other unhappy. No matter which way he let the scale slide, someone ended up miserable, and more often than not it was Quatre.

"Maybe he likes going," Quatre suggested. "Didn't you ever go to church?"

"I'm practically a saint. Do you have plans with Trowa for tonight?"

"Mm, not really," Quatre said. "Just dinner I guess."

"No big Friday night date? I need to give Trowa some romance tips. Hey, do you think I can kick this bottle all the way across the street?"

"I don't know. It looks pretty far."

"Yeah? That sounds like a challenge."

They stopped walking so Duo could line up his shot. He waited impatiently for a city bus to roll past before sending the empty plastic bottle flying a rather impressive distance. It bounced the final few feet and rolled up against the curb. "Yes!" cried Duo, pumping his fist into the air. "Nailed it!"

Quatre started to congratulate him, but something in the unexpected way Duo froze stopped him. All the glee and excitement bled from Duo's face, leaving him wide-eyed and chalky white. Quatre glanced across the street to where the bottle had landed. He saw nothing amiss, nothing that would explain Duo's abrupt shock, except a handful of men in business suits.

Duo grabbed his elbow. "Come on, stop staring, this way," he said quickly. He dragged Quatre into motion. "I don't think he saw us."

"Who?" Quatre twisted his head around. None of the men in suits looked familiar.

"Don't look! Keep walking. Stay calm." Duo needed to heed his own advice. His hand was a circulation-choking vise over Quatre's elbow.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Quatre's stomach clenched with sudden fear. He stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, more preoccupied with looking over his shoulder than watching his feet.

The business men moved away like a receding tide. Previously hidden from view and now exposed was a young man in faded jeans and a dark shirt. Quatre saw nothing intimidating or unusual about him that would cause Duo such concern. That is, not until the young man turned and their eyes met. Quatre sucked in a gasp. Heero's gaze snapped immediately to Duo.

"Oh, shit. Did he see us? He's seen us. Fucking _run_," Duo hissed. He dropped Quatre's arm and took off, fast and frantic like spooked rabbit.

"Wait!" Quatre hesitated only long enough to see Heero likewise bolt into action, and then he was running after Duo. The backpack jostled and slapped against him as he fled, trying desperately to keep the other boy in sight. Duo wove between two parked cars and darted down a narrow alley. Quatre banged a hip against one car's hood as he tried unsuccessfully to mimic Duo's nimble maneuvers. "Wait!" he cried again.

Once through the alley, Duo paused long enough to let Quatre catch up. He snagged the blonde's hand and jerked him forward. "Come on!"

"Why are we running?"

Duo pulled them into the street, almost colliding with a truck on his way across. Quatre felt wild surge of terror at the near miss and was too paralyzed to do more than tumble helplessly along in Duo's iron grip. "This was your dumb plan!" Duo panted, breathing just as ragged as Quatre's after their wild sprint. His eyes darted over Quatre's shoulder to the alley. "I'm not going back there." Duo threw himself through a row of tall, thick hedges that separated from the sidewalk from a small park and pulled Quatre after him.

"Maybe he'll understand." Quatre flinched his eyes shut against the sudden scratchy assault as the bushes fought back against their passage.

Duo squirmed and yanked and forced a way through. "Not everyone gets to be sickeningly fucking perfect like you and Trowa. I know that look on Heero's face. Fuck that noise. He can't trick me twice."

Quatre popped one eye open just in time to see the dark thundercloud that was Heero Yuy crossing the street. "Oh!" He wrestled his ankle free from a snarl of root and "But, Duo—" he started to say, but Duo dashed off just as soon as he spotted Heero.

They raced across the park and back out into a confusing maze of concrete. They were heading steadily toward downtown, in a convoluted fashion. Quatre could barely keep pace, his eyes locked on the fluttering beacon of Duo's braid. His lungs and thighs burned.

The door to a building opened up ahead of them. Duo dodged sideways to avoid the collision, but Quatre found himself caught between the door and the woman using it. He crashed around the woman and spun sideways into the hard cement. He caught himself with both hands, recalling much too late his only recently healed wrist, and let out a sharp cry.

Quatre rolled upright. "Duo!" he shouted. He clutched one hand to his chest and fought back a sudden knot of tears. He sucked in one rough breath after another. Dimly, Quatre registered the sound of the woman babbling with concern, but his eyes were locked on the dark, lithe shadow up ahead.

Duo skidded to a halt and turned. He looked at Quatre for a brief second before his eyes flicked just over the younger boy's shoulder. And then he was gone, disappearing around a corner.

The muscles in his leg trembled in protest as Quatre tried to gather himself to stand. Strong, warm fingers closed over his elbow and jerked him the rest of the way upright.

"He's fine," a terse, clipped voice said. A commanding hand shoved Quatre forward and away from the confused woman. "Stay here."

"No!" Quatre lunged and caught Heero's arm. Both hands protested with a loud stinging burst of pain, but he clung with stubborn persistence. "Leave him alone!"

Heero glared him. He shifted his steel glower toward where Duo had vanished and then back. "Release me."

"No."

"Fine." Heero fixed him with an intense look. "You're coming with me."

"What?" Quatre's chest heaved as he tried without much luck to catch his breath.

Heero snatched him by the wrists and tore Quatre's hands off his arm. He kept a tight grip. "I can't outrun Duo anyway. You'll do just as well. Come on."

"No, wait," Quatre protested.

Heero ignored him and started walking, dragging Quatre along with ruthless determination. He held the boy's left wrist, ignorant of the newly tender joint where the sprain was not fully healed.

"Please," Quatre said. "Please, wait."

"Be quiet."

The skin across both palms was raw, pink and torn from his fall. Quatre ignored that lesser pain as he frantically tried to free his wrist from Heero's grasp. "Please! Stop it. You're hurting me."

Heero jerked him forward, wrenching Quatre's wrist so harshly that he let out a strangled gasp, tears instantly springing to his eyes. Heero snapped his hand away as if burned. "Did you hurt it?" he demanded. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

Quatre snatched the wrist to his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. He nodded slowly.

"Is it broken?" Heero's concern, if that's what it was, peppered out at him in short, demanding bursts. He held out a hand and beckoned. "Give it here."

Quatre hesitated before cautiously settling his hand into Heero's open palm. With surprising tenderness, Heero felt at the delicate bones and gently rotated joint. He made a low, hushed sound of comfort when Quatre whimpered with pain. "It's not broken," he said, tone much kinder than before, but still nothing that could be called soft or reassuring. "You'll be fine."

"Okay." Quatre shifted, suddenly wondering if he could outrun Heero.

Heero tensed, as if he sensed Quatre's thoughts. He fractionally closed a hand over Quatre's wrist in warning. "You're coming with me. Don't try anything stupid." He prodded him forward, toward a nearby bus stop.

"Where are you taking me?" Quatre asked, with a clear note of alarm. Mad, irrational visions danced in front of him in which Heero collected some sort of bounty for each runaway patient he collected and returned to the hospital. Quatre thought he might faint, so sudden and severe was his anxiety. Heero touched wary hand to his elbow when Quatre faltered, like he still thought the boy might make a run for it. He said nothing, and that scared Quatre all the more.

They boarded the bus and rode a short distance before Heero made him get off and walk several blocks. Two more bus transfers later they were in a ramshackle little neighborhood far from the downtown buildings or any of the familiar landmarks from closer to Trowa and Catherine's apartment. Heero stopped them in front of a crumbling brick apartment building and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, one eye on Quatre as he did so. Quatre gazed up at the brickwork and then out at the desolate and bewildering street. He was utterly lost. Even if Quatre managed to slip free of Heero and run, where would he go? He'd lost his navigator.

* * *

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	57. The Hostage

LSC / 01-12-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Hostage)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 57

**The Hostage  
**

* * *

"Have a seat," Heero ordered.

Quatre perched uncomfortably on the edge of a bar stool, the first available piece of furniture. Not that there was much in the apartment; Heero's blank and empty home made Catherine's seem cluttered by comparison. A banged up and disheveled sofa occupied the central position in the living room. Two mismatched throw pillows slumped miserably on either end of it. Nothing else was in the room, not a table or a television or even a stray sock. The kitchen, at least, bore signs of use. A large wall calendar was pinned to the opposite wall, and if Quatre looked closely he could make out some of the carefully penned words that filled the daily squares. Immediately noticeable was Duo's name, written in red ink and circled several times, blocked into one of the weekend squares.

An orderly grocery list, written on a long, magnetic notepad, sat neat and tidy in the middle of the refrigerator. Less orderly notes clustered around it, held on by nondescript metal magnets. _Toaster setting 7 is sufficient _read one. Another said only, _do not drink expired milk_, but it was underlined several times.

Heero crossed to the fridge and opened it. "What do you want?" he barked.

"Huh?"

"To drink. Are you thirsty?"

"Oh. Um. Water's fine."

Heero jerked open the cabinet over the sink. "Ice?"

"Um. No, that's fine."

Heero filled a glass and set it on the counter in front of Quatre. He then just stood there, glaring at him. Quatre timidly sipped at the water, grateful for the cool liquid over his dry, parched throat.

"Are you going to tell me where he is?"

Quatre studied the rough gashes over his palms for a moment. Very slowly, Quatre shook his head.

Heero drummed his fingers across the counter. "Do you know where he is?"

Quatre nodded.

"Is he sleeping in the streets?"

"No."

"Does he have enough to eat?"

"I think so."

"Hn," said Heero.

Quatre couldn't tell if he was upset or not by the answers. He lifted his eyes to find Heero giving him the same intense look as before. Quatre's shoulders hunched instinctively, as if expecting a blow.

"Do you know a boy with long blonde hair and blue eyes?"

"Zechs?"

"Zechs," said Heero, as if the name were a sour taste in his mouth. "Who is he?"

"Just... someone we know." Quatre suddenly felt like he'd said too much.

"Hn," Heero growled.

"Are you going to let me go?" Quatre asked.

Heero said nothing. They stood there for quite some time in silence, Heero glowering indistinctly at the telephone and Quatre quivering inside with a furious building panic. He drained all the water from the glass but felt too intimidated by Heero to ask for more. He rolled the empty glass between his hands, heedless of the soft protesting pain the motion garnered.

"Stay here," Heero said sharply. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a clean washcloth. He set both on the counter in front of Quatre.

"Oh. Thanks," he said softly.

"Over the sink," Heero snapped, when Quatre reached for the cloth.

"Sorry." He hopped off the bar stool and did as Heero said, cleaning dirt and pieces of grit out from the rough abrasions first with running water and then with the sharp, stinging alcohol.

Heero watched him closely. "You shouldn't have run."

Quatre shrugged.

"I brought Duo back to the hospital, last time he ran away."

"I know," Quatre said. He tightened the cap back on to the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Is that why he ran?"

"Well, yeah. He thinks you're going to do it again."

"Hn." Heero definitely sounded displeased. He did not respond to Quatre's accusation otherwise. He took both the cloth and bottle away.

Quatre slipped the backpack from his shoulders and set it across the bar stool while he waited for Heero to return. He also refilled his water glass. A note tacked above the kitchen sink reminded him, _wash fruit and vegetables before consuming_. Quatre's eyes drifted across the length of kitchen counter beside the sink. A well-worn and faded note on the face of the oven read, _turn off before going to work_, and then scrawled sideways into the extra margin was _& bed or shower_. Quatre made a slow circuit of the kitchen looking for more notes before coming to a halt in front of the calendar. Drawn across three weeks, from Duo's name circled in red through the current day, was_ Look for Duo_. For tomorrow Heero had written _work 7am-6pm_, but today seemed to be his day off, the only one that week. _Chores_, was all the square said.

"What are you doing?" Heero demanded. He had returned holding a battered spiral notebook that had several loose pages sticking up from the top.

"Nothing," said Quatre quickly, guiltily. He backed away from the calendar and retreated behind his backpack.

Heero's eyes followed him. "Sit down."

Quatre scooped his bag off the stool and held it across his lap as he sat.

Heero set down the notebook on the far end of the counter. Each page that he turned was filled with tidy columns of Heero's compact, square writing. He flipped to a page which had two columns, unlike some of the others, with a straight line drawn between them. Quatre tilted his head, trying to see the larger words written across the top.

"What's that?"

"None of your concern."

Anger bubbled up through his tightly wound nerves. "Are you going to let me go?"

"No. You're staying here."

"Why? I'm not going to tell you where Duo is. Not if you're only going to betray him again."

Heero lifted his eyes from the notebook. He slowly lowered the pen to the counter. Quatre immediate regretted his fierce words. He regretted a lot in that single, blinding moment of panic, starting with that outburst and going all the way back to telling Duo his plan to escape. A dark thundercloud of fury rolled over Heero's face and sunk into the deep blue of his eyes so that they crackled and burned with emotion. "You know nothing," he said carefully, voice taut and quivering with restraint.

"I..." Quatre's throat convulsively worked around a hard lump of sudden fear. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing. Go sit over there," he ordered. Heero pointed to the sofa.

Reluctantly Quatre removed himself to the living room, or rather the blank section of apartment designed for that purpose. The sofa cushions smelled musty, like old rain. Heero watched him carefully before bending over the notebook once again.

Apparently whatever he wrote satisfied him, because Heero no longer looked ready to fight the world when he finally set the pen aside. He carried the notebook away and returned pushing a vacuum cleaner. Completely ignoring Quatre, Heero proceeded to vacuum the carpet, which remained a spotted and dingy grey despite his efforts. Once that was done he consulted a length of paper taped to the side of the vacuum, which Quatre assumed listed all the chores to be done. Heero was very thorough; he wiped out the inside of his refrigerator and swept underneath it, he scrubbed at top of the stove and dusted the tops of the cabinets.

Heero reheated some leftovers for lunch and split them with Quatre. "Thanks," he said cautiously, taking the plate of casserole. A stray pea rolled sideways and Quatre had to catch it before it could tumble to the freshly cleaned carpet.

Heero said nothing in return and sat at the kitchen counter to eat. Quatre remained sitting on the sofa, as Heero only owned the one stool.

"This is good," Quatre said. "Did you make it?"

Heero nodded.

"Well, I like it."

They ate in silence. Once he finished, Quatre took his plate to the sink and ran water over it to clear away the leftover cream sauce. He started to reach for the sponge and soap, but Heero suddenly appeared at his shoulder and yanked the plate out of his hand.

"Dishes are next on the list."

"Oh. Okay." Quatre retreated to the corner, well out of the way, and watched as Heero cleaned the empty casserole dish and both their plates before starting on the other dishes in the sink. There weren't very many, but apparently what was on the list had to be done regardless of need.

Heero nearly dropped the bowl he was cleaning when the phone rang. His soapy hands fumbled it for a second before he managed to set it to the side without incident. He wiped his hands dry on the thigh of his jeans before snatching the phone out of the cradle. "Hello."

Quatre knew immediately who had to be calling. Like a cloud passing over the sun, Heero's face lit up at first before darkening in a steely glower. That first reaction, though, amazed Quatre; relief and longing and happiness, all at once, too brief for him to really be sure he'd seen it at all.

"Yes," Heero snapped, to whatever Duo must have asked. He paused, listening. "No." His eyes went to Quatre. "No," he said again. Another pause. "Fine."

Heero held the phone out toward Quatre. "He wants to talk to you."

"Hello?" Quatre tucked the phone into his shoulder.

"Christ! Quatre! I'm so sorry!" Duo's voice burst with frantic energy. "Are you okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah."

"He's right there, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him to go away."

"Um," said Quatre.

"Shit. He's working his bully eyes on you, I bet. Listen, cutie-Q, this is super important. Did you tell him anything?"

"No."

"Thank God. Thanks, Quatre. I don't deserve it, bailing on you like that. You get why I did it though, yeah? I figured he wasn't going to stop. I thought he'd be coming after me. I came back here and you were gone, so I waited, but you never came, and I went looking for you but, shit. What's he doing? What's he want? Has he called the hospital? Are we all fucked? Hey, there's a fire escape out the bedroom window. I know you're spooked by heights, but you can do it. I don't want them to catch you."

"No, I don't think so," Quatre said carefully.

"He hasn't ratted us all out? Zechs, shut the fuck up, you're not helping. I said he didn't rat us out. I said he didn't! Quatre? Kiddo? You there? Listen—"

Heero took the phone back from him. "You will do no such thing," he growled into the phone, once Duo finished whatever sentence he'd started. "Where are you? Duo, answer me. Don't hang up."

"Um," Quatre started to say. Heero snapped such a violent glare at him that Quatre physically recoiled.

Heero pulled the phone from his ear and threw it back into the cradle. After a moment, he jabbed a short sequence of numbers. Quatre heard the squeal of rejection before an automated voice started to explain to Heero why his call could not go through.

"Where is he?" Heero stood a step toward him, brows low and furrowed over eyes that smoldering with that same inner burning intensity.

Quatre retreated until his back hit the stove. "I…"

"Stop looking at me like that," Heero said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"N-nothing. No reason." Quatre's eyes flicked from Heero out to the living room, to where his backpack sat on the sofa still. He carefully edged his way around Heero, slowly at first, and then all but fleeing when Heero made no move to stop him. With shaking hands he unzipped his bag and yanked Sandy free.

Heero turned back to the sink and finished up his work on the dishes. Quatre pressed Sandy's face to his and waited for the trembling feeling to dissipate. Once he'd calmed down enough, Quatre dug through the smaller outside pouch on his backpack until he turned up the orange prescription bottle.

Heero watched as Quatre shook free the very last pill and tossed the empty bottle into the trash. "What are you doing?"

"It's medicine," Quatre said. He kept a wary eye on Heero as he refilled his water glass.

"I can see that. Are you unwell?"

A creeping blush spread across Quatre's face. "No. I mean, yes."

Even Heero seemed flustered for a moment, once he understood. "Oh."

It somehow made Quatre feel secure, seeing Heero thrown off track for a moment. Sandy, warm and soft up against his side, only helped. "Are you going to turn me in?" Quatre asked quietly.

"No," said Heero. He seemed to have surprised himself with the answer. "I suppose not."

"Then, can I go?"

"No." He was back to being all firm words and stiff glares again. Whatever momentary gentleness that had passed between them was gone. "If Duo wants you back, he has to come get you."

* * *

When Trowa pulled into the alley behind the doctor's building the car's headlights caught on two figures standing outside the backdoor. Zechs stood leaned up against the wall smoking and at his feet crouched Duo. The braided boy slowly rose up when Trowa stepped out of the car, and by the guilty expression stamped over his face, something had to be wrong.

Trowa looked carefully between the two of them. Had they another fight and gotten Quatre involved? He spread his gaze out, searching each dim shadow and puddle of sickly light, hoping to see Quatre pop out and put his sudden anxiety to rest.

"Hi, Trowa!" said Duo, with a forced brightness. "How's it going?"

Zechs laughed and blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Don't tease him like that. Hey, Trowa. Duo here lost your boyfriend."

"I did not _lose_ him!" Duo protested. "I know where he is."

Trowa very calmly folded his hand over the car keys. He looked carefully at Duo.

"Okay," Duo said quickly. "So here's what happened. I was walking Quatre home from fake-school this morning, yeah? And, totally weird, out of the blue we run into Heero. And it's so incredibly funny, you're really going to laugh when I explain—"

"Duo ran off and left Quatre to the wolves," Zechs said with a grin. "Or, rather, wolf."

"Swear to God, Zechs. Shut up."

A slow, smug smile played at Zechs's lips, but he said nothing in reply.

_You what? _Trowa stared at Duo.

"Quatre's perfectly safe," Duo protested. "Don't listen to Zechs."

"Yeah, safe back at the hospital. There's no way he hasn't been shipped back to Saint Helen's, and it's only a matter of time before someone comes looking for us. I never should have brought you here." Zechs scowled.

Terror seized Trowa's heart and shook it madly. He felt faint and sick all at once, the cool night air suddenly sticky and suffocating.

"He said Heero hadn't ratted us out yet. If he was going to he would have by now. I'm the only one he's after." Duo looked at him. "Hey, Tro, you okay? You've gone a funny sort of non-color."

Trowa nodded. Duo's words slowly registered and clicked together into a shaky reassurance. He unclenched his hand from around the car keys. He wanted to grab Duo by the shoulders and shake him, maybe yell and curse while he was at it, demand how he could have been so stupid and reckless.

Trowa had been there the day that Heero returned Duo to the hospital. Everyone knew about it, what with the violent screaming fit that Duo pitched the entire time; right up until the head nurse got her syringe in him, at least. The gossip spread like wildfire through the halls until Wufei and Trowa found themselves at the center of the maelstrom, everyone wanting to know the details and thinking that, as Duo's closest friends, they had to have them. They hadn't then and hadn't afterward, either. Duo came out of it gone silent and dark, and lingered in a deep depression for several weeks afterward. He refused to talk about it other than to hotly defend Heero to Wufei, until their friendship nearly broke apart and Wufei had to let the matter go.

All Trowa understood of it was that Heero clearly operated under a different set of rules than he did, and now somehow Quatre had gotten tangled up in the mess.

"Look, Trowa, I bet you're pissed. That's cool, I get that. I totally do. But I really don't think Heero's going to hurt Quatre or anything crazy like that, or force Quatre back there. He's after me." Duo sighed and ran a hand over his bangs, pressing them flat to his forehead before letting them spring back into shape.

Trowa jerked his head toward the car.

"Woah, no way. Didn't you hear me? I'm the one Heero's after. I'm not getting within grabbing distance, not until I'm eighteen at least. That's the plan that your innocent little Quatre approved, so now he's gotta deal with the consequences. All right," said Duo quickly, after Trowa's brow swooped into a frown. "I didn't mean it like that. It's a good plan. It was my idea first. I'll tell you where Heero lives, no problem, if that's what you want, you can go fight him for cutie-Q. But I'm not going with you." He seemed scattered and restless, hyped up more so than usual. The words tumbled and collided with each other in a seamless rush.

"Seems to me like this Heero fellow knows exactly what he wants," Zechs mused. "If you're going to send Trowa to negotiate for hostages, shouldn't he bring you?"

"I told you! I'm not going. No fucking way. He can't just hold to Quatre forever. He's got to go to work at some point, right? What's he going to do, tie Quatre up and leave him handcuffed to the radiator or something? The kid's going to be fine."

Trowa looked at Duo with intent consideration. He felt a clear, shameless lack of loyalty in the matter. Duo versus Quatre, he didn't even need to think about it; the decision was already made for him, even without knowing the specific question.

"Don't you dare," Duo said. "Don't give me that look. I can see what you're thinking. Man, fuck you! Is this the thanks I get? I looked after him for you, didn't I? I helped him get out of there, I kept him safe for you. Come on, Tro, aren't we friends? You've been giving me nothing but grief for weeks now, like I'm to blame for your inability to just fucking communicate with Catherine. What do you think she'd do if she knew the truth about Quatre, huh? I'm not above it! Don't fuck with me, don't you dare. I'll storm that goddamn diner and tell her everything, then we'll see who's getting dragged back where, huh?"

Trowa closed both hands into fists and took a quick, angry step toward Duo. He'd never been in a fight before, but right then seemed like a good time to start. Zechs detached himself from the wall and set a hand against Trowa's chest to stop his furious advance.

"Duo, you sound utterly deranged," Zechs said, in a cool and collected voice. "And you're about to get your ass kicked, so shut the hell up for a second." He dropped his cigarette to the ground and tamped out the burning ember with his shoe. "I had plans tonight, you know," he said with a long sigh. "Let's go, Trowa. I'll help you out. You need someone to talk for you, and Duo's clearly in no state to do so."

"Hey! Fuck you. What the hell do you know?" Duo bounced on the balls of his feet. "Don't just decide things without me."

Zechs grabbed Duo by the shoulder and pivoted him around, forcing him still. "If this is what you're like _au naturel_, then I don't blame Yuy in the least for getting you back into professional care. You need to go upstairs and calm down. Don't do anything rash or stupid until I get back, okay?"

"Fuck—"

"Fuck me, yes, you've said that," said Zechs. "I'm serious, Duo." And he certainly sounded it, all traces of humor gone from his face. His voice was low and heavy with gentle concern. "I'll take care of this. Go back inside."

Duo took a half-step back, an instant wariness jumping into line and shadow of his face. "What the hell? What's gotten into _you_? You got the hots for Quatre all of a sudden? Don't be a creeper, I'll tell Trowa."

"You know that's ridiculous," Zechs said calmly. He pushed Duo toward the door. "Go on. Before you say anything more that you'll regret later."

Duo opened his mouth as if to argue but snapped it shut with a quick, guilty look at Trowa. "Fine. Whatever! See if I care. Doesn't matter to me at all." He rattled off Heero's address and apartment number before storming off, even going so far as to slam the metal fire door after himself.

Trowa's hands shook as he slipped the keys around the ignition switch. Rattled hardly began to describe how he felt, but once he had the car started Trowa took a deep breath to settle himself.

Zechs rolled down the passenger window. "Do you mind if I smoke in here?"

Trowa nodded and gestured to the small feminine touches in the car; the lipstick tube lying forgotten in the cup holder, one of Catherine's shirt across the back seat.

"Oh, right. Your sister's car. Sure," he said with a shrug. "No problem."

Trowa reached over and tapped the unused seat buckle. He still had the car in park.

"Hm? What?" said Zechs. He snapped the seat belt into place. "Sure."

Trowa nodded and carefully worked his way out of the alley. He hesitated, one hand over the blinker, and looked to Zechs for guidance.

"Oh," said Zechs. "Turn … left. It might be faster to take the Westbound Expressway, actually. There's an on-ramp just up the way. It'll be on the right." He stared out the window with an absent, distracted sort of look.

Trowa remembered what he said about having plans and wished for some easy way to convey his gratitude. While they were stopped at a light, he reached over again and tapped the boy's knee. Once he had Zechs's attention, he smiled, terse and frazzled due to his incessant worry for Quatre, but a smile nonetheless.

"What?" said Zechs. "Oh, sure. No problem. I'm curious to meet this Heero Yuy anyway. Anyone Wufei hates that much has to be worth meeting. Cheer up. It's two against one, three if we count Quatre. Those are good odds."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Aw, yeah. Less than 24 hours between updates. That's what I like! I hope you like it, too.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	58. Replace or Repair

LSC / 01-15-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Eight: Replace or Repair)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 58

**Replace or Repair**

* * *

Heero gave the screwdriver a final twist and then carefully separated one half of the hair dryer from the other. He set the shell aside on his work surface, which was a spare bed sheet spread out on the living room floor. Quatre leaned over the arm of the sofa to watch. Heero pulled a small device from his toolbox. It was square and had two small metal rods, color-coded like miniature jumper cables, extending from either side by plastic cords.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Heero glanced over at him for a moment before replying, "Fixing this. If I can."

"Is it yours?" Quatre looked curiosity at Heero's brown tangle of hair. He didn't seem the sort to do much styling.

"It is now. I found it." Heero fiddled with the inside of the hair dryer for a moment. He seemed pleased with the results and turned to his toolbox, unpacking a couple of different sized screwdrivers and several odd-shaped screws. He pulled a well-worn toothbrush, the bristles gone fuzzy and grey, from the very bottom and began to clean the dryer fan.

"You found it?"

"Yes, in the dumpster near my work. People throw away a lot of useful things." Heero rolled a shoulder toward his kitchen without taking his eyes off his task. "The toaster needed a new heating coil when I found it. I've got my eye out for another coffee maker. I've got one with a busted thermometer, so I think if I find one with a broken switch or something basic like that I can borrow the parts."

Quatre tried not to stare at the slow change that overcame Heero as he sat there on the floor surrounded by machine parts. "Can I help?" he asked instead.

"Sure. Underneath my bed there are plastic tubs of parts. Go get one."

"Okay," Quatre agreed. He hopped off the sofa and started for one of the bedrooms. He pushed open the door and felt an immediate shock of confusion. Movie posters hung all over the walls, some of them even a bit crooked, and in sharp contrast to the rest of the neat, barren apartment, this room seemed energetically occupied. The cluttered desk was a mess of art supplies, crumpled paper, and hair ties. It looked exactly like the sort of room Duo would keep, from the rumpled bed sheets to the messy desk, but with an eerie sort of precision that Quatre couldn't quite place.

"What are you doing? I said under my bed. This is not my room," Heero snapped. He'd come up behind Quatre at some point unnoticed.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said quickly.

Heero pulled the door shut so abruptly that Quatre had to flinch back or risk getting his foot caught. The slam reverberated through the apartment. Heero glared without really looking Quatre, and a strange pink tint glossed slowly over the tanned skin of Heero's face. Quatre recognized that sort of embarrassed, shy look, and he marveled at the fact that even Heero could make one.

Heero guided him over to the other bedroom. "This is my room," he growled. Heero knelt and then jerked one low, flat storage tub out from under the bed. Wires and plastic cords and other little bits of plastic and metal jumbled together in disorderly chaos.

Utilitarian would be the polite way to describe Heero's room. It was smaller than the other bedroom. A tiny but spotless bathroom connected the two rooms. He couldn't read them at such a distance, but notes clung around the edges of the mirror over the sink.

Heero pulled out a length of cord and studied a paper tag tied to one end. Quatre read the notations over his shoulder, but they made no sense to him. Heero discarded the power and found another one that apparently suited him. "Here," he said, handing it up to Quatre. "Hold that."

Heero shoved the tub back under the bed and pulled out a second tub, filled to the brim with separated pieces of appliances and other small machines.

"Where did you get all this stuff?" Quatre asked.

"I told you. People throw out useful things all the time. Just because something's a little broken, that's no reason not to want it."

Something in the soft, defensive way Heero said it made Quatre think they weren't talking about busted hairdryers and toasters anymore. He opened his mouth to reply, maybe even ask Heero about that strange, Duo-like bedroom, but Heero suddenly jerked his head up. "Did you hear that?" he demanded of Quatre.

"What?"

Heero bolted up and nearly tripped over the tub of parts. He kicked it back underneath the bed before hurrying into the living room. Quatre followed, still holding the power cord.

A long, static-filled buzz emanated from a white, square box that almost blended into the rest of the wall. It looked like whenever the apartment had been repainted, the speaker box had suffered along with the rest. Heero smacked a hand against the button and snarled, "What!"

"Hey. Heero Yuy. Open up." Tinny and distant out of the paint-crusted speakers, and Quatre couldn't recognize the voice.

Heero's glower slid over to him, though, like he expected an answer. Quatre managed a shrug.

"Who is this?" Heero said.

"We're the hostage negotiators."

"Step back into the street so I can see you," he said shortly. He remained standing next to the buzzer, however, and pointed Quatre toward the window.

Quatre hesitated. Knowing Heero's apartment was six floors up was an entirely different beast than looking down out of a six-story window. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought. He trudged over to the window. It was dark. That helped. Slowly Quatre edged the street into view. Standing in a wan pool of street light was Trowa, the shape of his body unmistakable to Quatre.

Trowa lifted a hand toward the apartment. Quatre wondered if Trowa could see him. Trowa was much too far away, the windows much too high up. Quatre took a trembling step back. A cold sweat prickled across his shoulders. He thought he might throw up. Quatre retreated all the way back to the door, rejoining Heero.

Heero looked him over. "Well? Who is it?"

"Trowa."

Heero's eyes narrowed. "Trowa does not talk."

"Zechs must be with him."

Heero pressed his thumb on to the buzzer. "Is Duo with you?"

"What do _you_ think?" the crackling, little voce snapped.

"That's definitely Zechs," Quatre whispered.

Heero scowled and viciously attacked the button to unlock the front door. He directed a dark glare at the buzzer. Quatre felt a rush of sympathy for him, but not strong enough to wash away relief at knowing Trowa was on his way upstairs. He realized he was still clutching the power cord and carefully set it down next to the hairdryer.

The knock on the door, when it came, seemed meek and polite given the circumstances. Heero yanked it open and stepped back to let the two of them enter. Trowa's eyes went immediately to Quatre and stuck to him with such intensity that he shivered.

Zechs's eyes roamed the apartment. He seemed highly amused by whatever he saw, from the blank walls to the busted hairdryer to Heero himself, on whom Zechs's gaze settled last. He slouched, hands in his front pockets, and grinned at Heero with an insufferable smugness.

Heero slammed the door shut with enough force that Quatre actually jumped. It seemed to break whatever was freezing Trowa in place, and he rushed forward to gather Quatre into a quick and fierce hug. His hands trembled along the curve of Quatre's shoulders and down the length of his arms until he could take Quatre's hands in both his own. Quatre winced but refused to pull away, no matter how fiercely the raw skin of palm protested. Trowa frowned and gently turned his hands over to look.

"I'm fine," Quatre said softly. "It's nothing."

Heero was staring at the two of them, Trowa in particular, with confusion clear across his brow.

"Nice place," Zechs said. His tone gave away nothing as to whether it was sincere or not.

Heero seemed to take him at his word. "Thank you," he said stiffly. He shifted his gaze warily from Trowa to Zechs and back. "Where is Duo?"

"Spazzed out of his mind and hiding from you, obviously. Thanks for that, by the way. He's going to keep me up all night now, I just know it. As if the snoring weren't already bad enough," Zechs said.

A nerve twitched along Heero's jaw. "Who are you?"

"I'm Zechs. I think I know more about you than you know about me." He paused and grinned. "I like that feeling."

Heero clearly did not. He squared his shoulders, but even slouching Zechs was taller. "Your mother's name is Charlotte," Heero said.

Zechs's brows tipped down and the haughty smile vanished. "So what if it is?" Zechs said.

Heero ignored him and looked at Trowa. "Your sister's name is Catherine."

"What the hell are you trying to say?" Zechs said.

"I want to see Duo."

Zechs crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, he doesn't want to see you."

The two of them glared at each other until it became comical, to Quatre at least, and he stifled a small, hysteric giggle. It wasn't funny at all, Quatre knew that, but his nerves were shot after such a stressful day. Heero was so intense all the time, except when elbow-deep in broken machines, that Quatre couldn't help but taken in the overflow. He broke away from Trowa to reclaim Sandy from the sofa and that small bit of motion jarred Zechs and Heero out of their staring contest.

"Jesus, you two deserve each other," Zechs muttered. He ran a hand through his long hair. "So what does this leave me to do, negotiate visiting hours? You want to see Duo, fine, whatever. I'm not taking you to where we're staying, though."

Heero's face did something strange when Zechs said the words _we're staying_. It quickly smoothed over into a scowl, however, leaving Quatre puzzled.

Zechs continued, "And I'm sure as hell not meeting you somewhere in public. One good screaming fit is all it'd take to blow our cover."

"Fine," snapped Heero. "Bring him here."

"That's going to be fun," Zechs said. "And you gotta promise, if Duo wants to leave afterward, he gets to leave. We all just get the walk way. Agreed?"

Heero's jaw worked. "Agreed," he worked out, between clenched teeth.

"Hooray," said Zechs, thick with sarcasm. "Come on, Trowa. Let's go try to convince crazy to go for a ride so I can get this over with."

Trowa nodded and slipped his arm through Quatre's, gently pulling him forward

"Quatre stays here," Heero added quickly. He shifted as if to physically block Trowa, who just rocked to a halt and stared at him.

Trowa pulled Quatre tight against him, the mute expression on his face absolutely clear.

"Okay, so Trowa stays here with Quatre. Gimme the keys," Zechs said. "I'll go alone."

Trowa shook his head.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Seriously? What do you think I'm going to do, drive it off a fucking cliff? This is ridiculous. I had more important shit to do tonight." Zechs took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. Fine. I'll take the bus and walk. There's no guarantee I'm going to get Duo to agree to this, you know."

Heero said nothing. Zechs glanced over at Quatre before flying out the door in a huff. Heero closed the door after him and then crossed to the window, eyes glued on the street below for several minutes, no doubt watching for Zechs. After a while he turned back around and looked slowly around his empty apartment. His gaze settled on the hairdryer, busted open and awaiting whatever Frankenstein procedure it needed.

Heero started gathering up his toolbox, packing everything away, and he folded the hairdryer, loose parts and all, into the bed sheet/ground-cloth. Quatre went over, thinking to help, but Heero swiveled his head around with a glare firmly in place.

"Sit," he told Quatre.

Next to him, Trowa bristled at the tone. Quatre plunked himself back down on the sofa anyway, not wanting to cause a fight. Trowa stayed standing, hovering protectively between him and Heero.

Heero ignored him, or possibly didn't notice, and left to put away his machinery. When he came back out from the bedroom, he made a beeline into the kitchen. He pulled a thick and battered cookbook off the top of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. The pages flopped apart easily, and the book lay flat on the page Heero turned to.

"What are you making?" Quatre called from his perch on the sofa.

"Dinner," said Heero. He banged around through his kitchen until he had everything arranged in a row in front of him; mixing bowl, flour, sugar, eggs – Quatre only figured out what he planned to make when Heero set a very old but sturdy, square waffle iron on the counter.

Quatre cautiously got up off the sofa and crept into the kitchen to watch. Trowa followed at a close distance. "Did you find that?" he asked Heero, pointing to the waffle iron.

"Yes," said Heero.

"What was wrong with it?"

"Wiring needed replaced, here at the hinge." Heero tapped the iron to show him.

Heero was a slow but methodical cook. He measured everything very precisely and consulted the cookbook in between each step, like it might have changed since the last time he looked. He wore a look of intense concentration as he beat the batter with a wooden spoon. Hs lips moved, and after a moment Quatre realized it was because he was counting under his breath to one hundred. Quatre tilted his head and caught an upside-down look at the cookbook; the margins of the page were nearly black with notes in Heero's distinctively square handwriting.

"Can I help?" Quatre offered, perhaps a bit late into the process. Heero stood over the waffle iron with his eyes locked on the indicator light.

"No," said Heero. "Just sit there." The light snapped off, and Heero was ready at once. He transferred the golden-brown waffle to an empty plate, cut it in half, and then set the second piece on another plate. He set one plate in front of Quatre and another just beside it, for Trowa.

"Oh. Well, thank you," said Quatre, surprised. Heero nodded without looking at him and fetched a tub of butter and a bottle of syrup out of the fridge. Quatre drizzled syrup all over his waffle began to eat and, after a moment, Trowa joined him.

"This is really good," Quatre said.

Heero seemed uncomfortable with the compliment. The second batch he split into fourths, two for him and one each for Quatre and Trowa. Quatre loved eating the waffles right as they came out, still hot and steamy on the inside when he cut into them with a fork, but after the third batch he had to admit to being too full to continue.

Heero was staring down the fifth batch when the buzzer startled all three of them. Heero looked between the waffle iron and the door for a moment, clearly conflicted over the possibility of burnt waffles.

"I'll get it," Quatre offered. He went over to the door and pressed the intercom button. "Hello?"

"It's me." Presumably that meant Zechs, since Quatre could hear Duo in the background on a full-scale rant, the actual words indistinct through the static and crackle of the cheap speaker. "Open up."

Quatre buzzed them into the building and then returned to the kitchen. Heero set out two more plates, presumably one for Zechs and one for Duo, and then scooped another cup of batter into the iron. The tension gnawed at Quatre. Trowa, as if sensing his thoughts, settled a hand against the small of his. There were a lot of places he'd rather be, and a lot of thing he'd rather be doing, than right there in that apartment waiting for Duo.

* * *

Duo balked as the elevator doors opened. "I can't do this," he told Zechs, for what surely had to be the millionth time that night.

Zechs grabbed his arm with an iron grip. "Yes, you can. Don't be an idiot. Didn't I promise to fight Heero for you, if it came to that?"

"You don't be stupid," Duo muttered. It was not one of his more brilliant comebacks. "Let's just grab Quatre and get. I thought you said you were going to take care of this. Huh? What was all that about, then?"

"Quatre's fine." Zechs shoved a shoulder into the elevator doors to prevent them from closing. The doors protested and pushed back, hard enough that for one giddy second Duo was convinced he was about to watch Zechs get chopped in half. At last they chugged back open with a reluctant sigh, and Zechs hauled him out of the elevator before the doors could gather themselves for a retaliation strike.

Duo dug in his heels. "That's his door."

"Yeah. You're a genius, all right." Zechs's grip tightened enough to bruise. Duo felt the pain, acknowledged it as an electric spark that shot over his arm and made his muscles twitch in response. Felt it, and really didn't care, because all he could think about was an April rain storm. From one of the other apartments came a burst of noise, a television cranked too loud during the action sequence of a movie. It sounded like thunder, and Duo tried to jump out of his skin.

"Wait, wait, wait," Duo said. "This was a fucking crazy idea. Why didn't you just leave Quatre here overnight and come back in the morning? Heero's a fucking workaholic. He's gotta leave sometime. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? What the hell did you do to me that I thought this was a good idea? Wait, wait, Zechs, let's just leave. Trowa's here, right? So, Quatre's fine, I'm fine, you're fine…"

Duo twisted and pulled to no avail. Zechs was simply stronger than him. But he had to be more determined, right? Duo focused on that, focused all his energy on his arm and the steel band of Zechs's grip, and thought suddenly of when foxes would chew their own paws off to be free of traps. Could he do that? The thought struck him as hysterically amusing.

Duo must have stopped struggling, too wrapped up in images of foxes and steel traps and desperate times calling for desperate measures cliche, because they were standing in front of Heero's door before he really realized it. He glanced back at the elevator. He must have been too easy on Zechs. He could have put up a better fight.

"Hey," said Zechs. "You need to calm down."

"You need to shut up." He was king of snappy replies, apparently. Someone should make him an award. He'd make his own reward, some paper-mache atrocity like the first time Dickie thought to get all arts and crafty on them. Duo had to do some fast-talking to convince him that, no, of course he didn't mean to make an anatomically correct penis, it was an air blimp, and it was sexual harassment to suggest otherwise, Dickie. It'd been one his greater moments of glory, the first iteration of the nickname, and Duo thought fondly of paper-mache ever since.

"I'm serious," Zechs said. "Take a deep breath or something."

"You should have let me have a drink before we left."

"I'm sure that you're twice as charming drunk." Zechs rapped his knuckles on the door.

He'd released Duo to do it, and Duo tensed all over like a sprinter waiting for the starting pistol. Now was his chance!

And then the door opened, and Heero was right there.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I have a 4-day weekend. I bet you can guess what that means! See you soon and thanks for reading and, especially, thanks for reviewing.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	59. Heero and Duo

LSC / 01-16-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Fifty-Nine: Heero and (Duo))  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 59

**Heero and (Duo)**

* * *

The waffles were a bribe. He knew this, because he knew Heero had a weird thing about eating breakfast foods for dinner. They'd fucked up the something with the food order at Whitmore (your premier residential reformatory school, according to the brochure, and at the time Duo thought it was fucking awful, and then he got sent to Hel' and that really worked out spiffy, didn't it?) - it'd been scrambled eggs and bacon for dinner, and Heero wore a stubborn little frown as if personally offended by the upset to routine. So the fact that Heero had apparently made waffles, Duo didn't trust it. Not that he didn't immediately eat three or four of them, slathered in butter and drowning in syrup. They were his goddamn bribe, and he'd savor every last bite.

Awkward, now that was the understatement of the century. Zechs ate, Heero ate, Quatre and Trowa watched like they were too good for waffles, or probably had already eaten. Duo devoured, no polite way of saying that, and for a moment the awkwardness seemed to be the worst of it. Heero didn't say anything to him, beyond a stiff "come in," like he and Zechs fancied standing out in the hall all night. Which, actually, was true in Duo's case.

Heero gave the dishes a cursory rinse. He turned off the water and then turned to find all eyes on him. Heero, of course, was unfazed by the attention. "Come with me," he told Duo.

"Why?" said Duo. He folded his arms over his chest. "You said you wanted to see me, right? Well, here I am. Ta-la-freaking-da. Now we get to leave. I show, you look, I bolt. That was the deal, right?"

Heero's eyes narrowed. He advanced around the end of the kitchen counter. Duo took a single step back and then stopped, furious at Heero for making him retreat. He stood his ground, toyed with the idea of getting right up in Heero's face. A screaming match for the neighbor's, it'd be louder than thunder, so loud it would drown out the frantic thump, thump of Duo's heart.

"I want to talk to you," Heero said.

The sincerity in the words made Duo pause. The anger-train chugging merrily along on waffle-and-syrup fuel derailed and exploded into a fiery crashing burning snarl of confusion. Or something like that. He bounced on his toes, jittery and wired and maybe so much sugary sweet syrup had been a bad idea, or maybe the best idea, and he should have just drank it straight, no waffle chaser. Zechs should have let him have a drink. He wanted to get drunk, it sounded like fun, he watched Zechs do it and grow listless and sullen and callous, like nothing could ever hurt or worry or think.

"Fine," said Duo. "Talk."

Heero shifted his weight to one side. "In private."

And Quatre, stupid, cute, naive little Quatre, popped in with, "Do you want us to leave?"

"No!" said Duo. Too quick, too urgent, too goddamn scared, because once they left what was to keep Heero from bashing him unconscious with the waffle iron and calling the hospital or cutting out his kidneys and leaving him to wake up in a bathtub full of ice? Okay, maybe that last one was unreasonable. Maybe the waffle iron bit, too, but it wasn't just like Heero could rely on the same trick twice, now that Duo knew better. He'd brought back-up this time, hadn't he? Duo's eyes flicked sideways to find the reassuring lump of space that Zechs took up on the opposite end of the counter. For once he actually appreciated the tall boy's size.

"Come on," Heero growled. He took Duo's arm – when would people stop hauling him around like that, dammit? – and led him toward the bedroom.

Duo cast second, frantic look over his shoulder. What if Zechs and them just took the opportunity to leave? Fuck, he'd ditched Quatre, so what loyalty did cutie-Q have to him? And Trowa? Trowa'd been willing to slit his throat and leave him bleeding in the alley if it meant keeping Quatre safe (wait, what the fuck did that even mean?). And Zechs? Well, there was his gamble; Zechs didn't like him, but did he hate him enough to lie and break a promise? But no one looked ready to rush the door all at once, and Duo tried to find that reassuring as Heero chucked him into the bedroom and closed the door.

Duo stood in the middle of the room and looked at the bed, the nightstand, the lamp, the weird lump of bed sheet in the corner, looked at it like they were all made of poison. Or possibly monsters, with big, horrible rows of teeth just ready and willing to chomp, chomp, chomp. He chafed his hands up and down his arms. Red marks, already swelling and darkening into bruises, marred his arm like a badass tattoo in a cuff just above his elbow. He rubbed at them, like his finger tips had turned to erasers and could just brush, brush, brush them away.

Heero leaned up against the door, palms spread against the surface like he was braced for something. Slowly he pushed off from the door and circled around Duo, who spun in place to keeping facing him, until he'd made the mistake of letting Heero get him back up against the bed. Heero was between him and the window, the bathroom door, and the bedroom door – all the possible exit points. Duo glared and hoped it looked fierce.

"Where have you been?"

"None of your fucking business," Duo snapped. Chafe, chafe, chafe, like he could erase, erase, erase.

Heero frowned and took a step forward. It was either stand there and let him, or crawl right the fuck over the bed and claw a way through the wall to freedom. Duo stiffened, his hands halting their motion as soon as Heero reached to take them. His throat worked through a strange, low rumble at the sight of the fledgling bruises.

"What did you do?"

"Me? Me? What did I do? What did _I_ do? Fuck you. Why's everything gotta be my fault all the time? Why can't you just be like, oh, wow, sorry that some big tall blonde lug of a lush tried to use your arm as a handle, that must suck for you, Duo, do you want some ice or maybe a goddamn bit of fucking sympathy?"

Heero scowled. "He did this to you?"

"Fuck you! That's not what I meant. Maybe if you actually fucking listened to me for once. Why's that so hard for you?"

"You're not making sense."

"Don't tell me that! Just because you can't fucking understand anything that isn't written out on a goddamn list don't assume the rest of us – fuck!" He forgot what he'd been trying to say. "This is stupid! Why are we even talking about this?"

Heero's grip tightened. "Duo, calm down."

He was really fucking tired of being told that. Duo jerked his arms free of Heero, or at least he tried to, but he was so tired of everyone being stronger than him. He hated that trapped sort of feeling, thinking that you could do something, and suddenly being told, nope, no way. Rage filled him, black and bitter and so thick it made him suck in air like a drowning man. Duo twisted one way and then the other, filled his lungs and then let out a throat-bursting scream that never really had a chance to get going before Heero clapped a hand over his mouth. The other was an iron bar around Duo's waist, pulling him close and tight against Heero's chest. He tried to scream again, tried to wrestle free, tried to suck air around the hot and wild ball of fury that filled his head and lungs and heart.

"Stop it!" Heero hissed. White showed all around the deep blue of his eyes. Under the tan of his face he was white as well. The ceiling above him was white. Duo's vision was going white.

Oh, he needed to breathe. Like, real people breathe, not wild banshee maniac breathing that came in sick, desperate pants. In, out, in out, lungs worked funnily that way. They operated just fine when he wasn't thinking about it, and then suddenly trying to breathe normally just fucked everything up. He swayed against Heero.

Heero lowered Duo to the bed. He sat there, woozy and dazed, wholly focused on establishing some sort of pleasant don't-think-about-it rhythm with his lungs. He felt Heero's hand stroke the side of his face, across his neck, and down the length of his braid. Heero had always liked his hair.

There came a knock on the door, equal parts timid and demanding. "Everything all right?" called Zechs. That was sweet of him.

Sweet and suicidal, because Heero turned his head and snapped, "Fine! Go away!"

A long pause, like maybe Zechs had left, and then, "Duo?"

"Yeah." It came out raw and hurt. He swallowed a mouth gone bone-dry and tried again anyway. "Yeah. Fine."

"Okay," said Zechs. In that, _I totally don't fucking believe you_, kind of way. Touching.

Heero took a step toward the bathroom, eyes bright and wary as they check Duo, the door, Duo, the window. Duo tried to swallow again. He doubted he could get more than three steps away from the bed at the moment, Heero or no. Heero ran the bathroom sink and came back holding a glass of water.

"Here."

"Thanks."

Well now he just felt embarrassed for throwing a huge fucking hissy fit. What a way to prove his sanity than by totally and utterly freaking out? He drained the glass and glared up at Heero. Stupid Heero, stressing him out like this; maybe he wouldn't be so goddamn edgy if Heero hadn't ruined everything.

Heero just stood there, standing over him, blocking his exit but not saying anything, his face blank, or maybe not, it was always hard to tell unless Heero was angry. He was angry a lot, and showed it easily where everything else just got sucked into that vaguely confused blankness.

Duo gripped his fingers into the glass. Maybe it would shatter if he squeezed hard enough, and wouldn't that just be the cap to a perfectly lovely evening? He forced his hands to relax. "Okay. So, let's start over. I'm fine. How are you, Heero?"

"Fine," said Heero. Reflexively, like how people's leg twitch after a little tap, tap of the doctor's hammer. He frowned. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"You know. When you do that. You know I don't understand."

"When I try to have a civil conservation with you? Fuck off. That's what I get for trying to be nice. I want to leave now."

"No."

"I'll scream for Zechs and have him come kick your ass, and then we'll see about that. I don't have anything I want to say to you, and I don't have anything I want to hear from you."

Duo set the empty glass on the nightstand. He started to rise up from the bed, but Heero pushed him back down and kept a firm hand on his shoulder. "You fainted. Don't get up yet."

"Nearly fainted," Duo corrected. He crossed his arms over his chest, realized he looked like a fucking toddler doing it, and forced them straight and casual at his side. "Because someone thought it was a good idea to cut off my air supply. Good going, Heero, now Zechs is going to think you're in here beating on me. I'm going to tell him the bruises are from you, and then we'll see how you're supposed to react in that type of situation. You can write it on a fucking sticky note and put it on your bathroom mirror."

"Who is he?"

"Again, you're not listening. Stop picking out the one goddamn thing that doesn't matter. Zechs is just Zechs. He's too tall, he gets on my nerves, but I guess he's my friend and we're currently living together so I'm stuck with him."

Heero's fingers tightened, digging into the flesh of Duo's shoulder so sharply that he yelped and jerked away before he could earn another row of bruises. "Hey! Fucking watch it," Duo snapped.

Heero's jaw worked through a lump of anger. Duo could see it, roiling like dark waves over him. It was like watching thunderclouds roll, and he shuddered.

"You're living with him?"

"Yeah, isn't that what I just said?" Duo narrowly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Something flew up and got caught in all that black fury on Heero's face, and Duo felt harshly and immediately guilty for his flippant reply. "Oh, shut up. Stop it, Heero. Don't give me that fucking look. Me, Zechs? La fucking gross. It's like, roommates, or whatever. Quatre's with us half the time anyway, when he's not off sucking face with Trowa, and you know me better than that, so just shut down that train of thought right now. Conductor's calling it all clear, get the fuck off, last station. Got it?"

Heero mulled this over for a second. "You're angry with me."

"Wow! How'd you ever fucking guess? Ding ding ding, give the man a prize."

"You're angry with me because of what happened in April."

Having it right there between them, that thing they'd never, ever talked about afterward, not once Duo finally got Heero to answer the phone and talk to him again, not all the times (twice) that Heero came to visit after – Heero's words flopped between them like a dead, wet, smelly fish that neither of them wanted to look at or touch or have anywhere near. Duo felt the prickle of cold sweat across his brow. He licked his lips and said, "Yeah."

And then nothing else. Just strange, stilted silence that went on for too long, like the moment for either of them to fill it had come, gone, and left weird bitterness behind.

"I don't like when you're angry with me," Heero said at last.

"You should have thought of that before you ruined everything. _Everything_," he emphasized, because he'd never had the opportunity to yell at Heero for this before, and it felt good. Really good, especially when his words made Heero's brows tip together. Really good, until Heero spoke.

"You need to go back to the hospital."

His heart stopped. Not, like, literally, because that would kill him, but it sure as hell felt like it. Cold rushed into him, all those waffles turned to hard concrete in his gut, and Duo felt he might puke, cry, or scream all at the same time. He drew a shuddering breath and forced a bizarre half-cocked smile. He managed a few strangled words over the harsh staccato of his heart. "You're shitty at apologies."

Heero pulled open the nightstand drawer and pulled out his battered spiral notebook.

"Don't," Duo said weakly.

Heero ignored him and flipped through the pages. Some fell out on to the floor. Heero caught one as it made its slow descent.

"Don't, Heero. I'm serious."

Heero held out a loose sheaf of paper to him.

"Swear to God, Heero. Get that goddamn list out of my face or I really will start screaming for Zechs to come kick your ass."

"Read it."

"No. I hate these fucking lists. You and your goddamn lists!"

"The lists help me think."

Duo just stared up at him, resolutely ignoring the square lines of writing directly in front of his face. "Fuck you."

"Please," said Heero.

Which Heero never, ever said, so it made Duo pause and actually take the stupid list from him. He was tempted to just start shredding it. Get big handfuls of paper and tear, crumple, bite and rip and claw, whatever it took to reduce all those stupid lists to rot and ruin.

"'Reasons Duo Needs to Go Back to the Hospital,'" Duo read. The words tasted like tears, salty and sorrowful. He glared at it, as if by sheer will alone he could incinerate the page. "I'm not going to read this," he told Heero.

"Please," said Heero again.

_Reasons Duo Needs to Go Back to the Hospital_

_He is sick and takes medicine_

_They can help him and give him the medicine_

_I cannot help him or give him medicine_

_He is 16 17 and ward of the state_

Duo stopped reading. He slowly lifted his eyes from the paper. "When'd you write this?" He was whispering. How fucking dramatic.

"In April."

"When?"

Heero hesitated. "When you were sleeping."

"Well," Duo muttered. "At least you remembered my birthday."

_He cannot leave until he is better_

_He will not get better here_

_Once he is better they will let him leave_

_Once he leaves he can live with me (if he wants)_

And then Duo did crumple the list. He worked the paper with his hands until it was a teeny tiny ink-stained ball of worthless conjecture. He couldn't look at Heero. The carpet seemed fuzzy. And wet. Oh, tears. He blinked rapidly to clear them.

Duo heard Heero shuffling through his notebook again. The bed creaked and shifted as he sat on the mattress next to Duo. He held a second list, almost the very last page in the notebook.

"'Duo Should Go Back to the Hospital,'" Heero read. He sounded nice. It reminded Duo of when they'd talked in April, when the rain had been streaking across the walls of the phone booth, and he'd been half-hysterical and sobbing, and Heero had been so nice, just like this, and Duo's heart skipped madder than any thunder could roll.

He glanced at the list. Heero had drawn a straight line down the page. On the left side of the page, under the column heading of _Yes_, were all the same reasons as April. Because Duo was crazy, hadn't he just got done proving that over and over again? Heero had even thought of a few more to add, reasons that included lovely things like, _he doesn't take his medicine_. But on the right side, underneath the word _No_ was one small line of writing.

_He does not want to go back_

Heero slowly turned the page. This one had only a title, _Why Duo Does Not Want to Go Back _and then nothing but the long, empty blue lines of notebook paper.

"I don't know what to put for this one," Heero told him.

"You're being nice." Duo said it and meant it as an accusation.

"Yes," said Heero. "I am trying to be."

"It's weird. It makes me think it's all fucked. That I'm dreaming or you're lying. Stop it." He blinked away wetness again. "I don't like it."

"Yes, you do."

"What, you got a list in there called 'Shit Duo Likes' and at the very top it says, 'when I am nice to him?' Christ on crackers, Heero. Enough with the fucking lists. There aren't any goody two-shoes school counselors around to check your work."

"The lists help me think," Heero said.

"Yeah, you said that. News flash, Heero. The lists are fucked."

Heero set the notebook to the side. He reached and very cautiously took Duo's hand in both his own. Duo pointedly did not look at him.

"Why did you run away?" Heero asked.

"Because it's a shithole there and I hate it. I fucking hate it so much."

"Why did you not behave yourself and get released?"

"Behave, behave, behave. You're a goddamn hypocrite. You were the troublemaker. Don't you remember all the shit we used to get up to? Remember how Fat Berta kept pulling my braid in Civics, but that pock-marked Poindexter of a teacher thought I was hollaring just for the hell of it and gave me detention, so we snuck into the kitchens together after lights out? And you sprayed whipped cream all through the slats in her locker, and then afterward we ran out into the exercise field and tried to see how much of the leftover whipped cream I could fit in my mouth all at once. Do you remember that?"

"I remember," said Heero.

"And then you sucked me off, right there under the stars so that God and the Devil and maybe even Fat Berta could have seen. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," said Heero.

"Well? What the fuck happened to you, Heero Yuy? Why now is it suddenly lists and telling me to behave and acting like if maybe I just followed all the rules and asked nicely they'd give me that big rubbery stamp of sanity and let me get some shitty apartment and a shitty job? Huh?"

For a long time, Heero just sat there and ran the pad of his thumb over Duo's knuckles in a slow, methodical pattern."Do you remember," he said quietly. "When they sent you away, just after the first term?"

"Yeah," said Duo slowly. "I don't have fucking amnesia."

"They sent you to that clinic because you were…"

Heero paused so neatly that Duo felt bad for him, and generously chimed in, "Because I was fucking crazy."

"Don't say that," Heero said sharply. His hand tightened over Duo's. "You were sick."

"That's a cute way of looking at it."

"It's true. You're bipolar. It's a disorder. It's caused by a chemical imbalance in your brain."

"Have you been reading psychology textbooks again?"

"Yes," said Heero. So fucking unabashed that Duo felt embarrassed for even asking, however the hell that worked. "I want to understand."

"So make a fucking list."

Heero ignored him. "And when you came back, just after third term? You were different."

"Yeah, I was so cracked out of my mind on meds I could barely think straight. Why do you think I stopped taking them that summer?"

"Because I graduated, and you were bored."

"Oh, fuck you. Don't be so conceited." The traitorous thump, thump of his heart; could Heero hear it?

"That summer. You called and asked me to come meet you at the school. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," said Duo."We went to explore that abandoned warehouse." He remembered the brilliant cacophony of insects, and how every step he took through the tall grass of the empty lot sent a wave of grasshoppers jumping and leaping. The burning July sun caught and shone through the rich chocolate and deeper browns of Heero's hair and set his tanned skin to a glow.

"You climbed to the roof and asked me if I thought the grass would be enough to break your fall. You wanted me to dare you to jump."

"So I did some dumb shit because I thought it was a good idea. What's your point?"

Heero looked down at their joined hands. "What if I can't talk you off the roof next time?"

"Then I'll jump. I don't know. Seriously, Heero, what's with the memory game all of a sudden? This is stupid. I can take care of myself just fine. I don't need to be locked up and talked to like I'm a fucking baby all the time. I hate my doctors, I hate my stupid medication, I hate not being able to think and feel alive like this. Who do you want to be with, the fun-loving Duo that you met, or the muddle-headed idiot the pills turn me into? Huh? I can sure as hell tell you which one I'd rather be. No contest."

Heero's hands had tightened convulsively at the words_ then I'll jump_. He stood up so that he loomed over him, which Duo hated on principle alone, and glared. "I don't understand you."

"No fucking shit, Heero. Stop saying that like it's my fault. I really don't know how I can make this any clearer to you. I'm not going back to that hospital. Once I'm eighteen they can't touch me, that's the way the law works."

"They can if you are a threat to yourself or others."

"Oh, so now I'm a threat? Lock Duo away so he doesn't hurt me? What the fuck do you have to be afraid of? You could snap me in half like a twig." Duo bounced up off the bed, quick enough that his vision blacked around the edges, but he had enough righteous fury to stay on his feet until it cleared. "I'm done talking to you."

"You can't leave."

Duo shot him a venomous look and tried to move around him. Heero shifted to block his path. Duo slapped his hands away before he could even think of touching him. "I'll scream again, Heero, I swear to God I will. I've got Zechs and Trowa and Quatre in the next room. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. You can't just sit here and guilt me into going quietly, either. I'm done talking to you, I'm done being in this stupid apartment. I want to leave, and I'm going to leave, and if you don't like it than boo-fucking-hoo."

"Don't leave," snapped Heero. "Stay here."

"Oh, that's rich." Duo stepped sideways and tried to show relief when Heero let him. He started for the door. "I don't need you this time. I'm not stuck out there fighting rats for garbage lunches and sleeping in alleys with scary-ass fucking hobos. You're not going to get a call from whining about the rain and being cold and hungry and wet. I don't need you. I don't want you." Duo grabbed the doorknob.

"Wait," said Heero. "Please."

"Stop being nice. You can't trick me again."

"I'm not trying to trick you."

"I know you're not very good at this, Heero, but try to understand what I'm saying. Just listen to me for once. Listen to what I'm saying, and don't just hear what you want to hear. I'm leaving. I'm not coming back."

"Leave. I won't stop you." Heero closed the distance between them and pressed a hand to the door in direct contrast to his words. Liar. Duo narrowed his eyes and kept a firm grip on the doorknob. He'd rip the goddamn door off its hinges if he had to, he could and he would.

"But come back," Heero said. "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."

"Why? You gonna have the men with the straitjackets waiting for me? You think I'm that fucking stupid."

"No, I don't think that."

Duo mulled it over. He looked at Heero, really looked, not just glared, and tried to see something worth trusting in those intense blue eyes that were currently locked on his face. "Maybe," he grumbled. He had to look away. Thump, thump, thump. His heart was a fucking traitor.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I've tried everything, but I can't get FFN to format correctly the bit where Heero writes Duo's age. 16 is supposed to have a line drawn through it, stricken out, so that it's obvious Heero wrote the wrong age and then had to correct himself. I have no idea why FFN hates basic text mark-up, but it does. I tried editing the HTML, everything. Sorry about that.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	60. Telephone

LSC / 01-16-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty: Telephone)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 60

**Telephone**

* * *

"Hello?"

The lift and tilt to the vowels, with that single final sound drawn out much longer than necessary, told Zechs everything he needed to know. "Oh. You're easy."

"Sometimes," the voice replied in a purr. "Do I know you?"

"No, I have the wrong number."

"That lie doesn't suit you, Milli. Try another one."

"I wasn't calling to talk to you."

"Oh, you wound me. If I remember correctly, I gave you this number in the first place."

"Fair enough. How are you?"

"Awful," he said. "I utterly loathe everything about this place. My roommate snores terribly and isn't the least bit attractive, quite the opposite, there is no one of any consequential beauty here. I'm trapped in a dessert of ugly, boorish people. You have no idea how taxing this is to my fragile psyche. I'm half tempted to fake a huge nervous breakdown, something filled with all kinds of dramatic flair, just so they'll take me someplace else. I could even fall down the stairs while I'm at it."

"Don't do that," Zechs said, sharper than he intended.

Treize just laughed. "Such concern, Milli! So touching. Don't worry, I'm far too vain to risk damaging my lovely face. Maybe I'll chuck my roommate down the stairs instead."

"So, you don't like it there?"

"No," he sighed. "But Wufei switched his vote at the last minute, so now I'm stuck with the consequences." His voice grew soft and teasing. "I wanted to stay there with you."

Zechs shifted his grip on the receiver. "Don't say that. I shouldn't even be talking to you. This was a mistake."

"I wasn't serious. I didn't want to stay because of you. All you ever did was ignore me, right up until I became useful. Well, you're nothing but a pretty face to me, Milli."

"You shouldn't call me that. I don't like it."

"Don't be cruel! Is this what I get for my kindness?"

"Yeah, well. I'm not supposed to talk you anyway. Now I remember why."

"I don't understand you. You're awful. Don't ever call me again."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Well. I've got a two out of three chance you don't want to talk to me. Damn, this was a stupid idea. Doc's the gambler, not me."

"Excuse me? Peacecraft, is that you?"

"Well, fuck me. Looks like I got lucky. Hi."

"Hello," Wufei said. "It's rather late for you to be calling. Is everything all right? You sound unwell."

Zechs snorted. "Yeah, I'm drun- Druunnnnning out of things to do. I'm bored."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How are things otherwise?"

"Amazing. Fantastic. Look, we both know I'm just going to give a sarcastic answer. Why do you even bother? How do you think things are?"

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to be polite."

"Fuck. Yeah, of course you were. Sorry. I'm not trying to get three-for-three. Forget I said that."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I did not mean to pry."

Three apologies in a row; even for polite and stodgy Wufei that seemed unusual. "What, how are things there? Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes. Well enough. Did you call a few days ago, by chance?"

Zechs kicked the glass wall of the phone booth. "Maybe. Yeah. I did. I mean, don't you already know the answer? Didn't he write about it in that damn journal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Treize. That damn journal the three of you have. Jesus, fuck me for being an idiot. I guess he didn't mention it."

"No," said Wufei slowly. "He didn't. Were... Were you wanting to speak with him? Is that why you called?"

"No, I didn't say that. Of course not. Why would you think that? Dammit, stop making all these weird assumptions. I don't want to talk to Treize. He's nothing. He's not even real."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, Jesus. I don't even know what I'm saying. Forget I said that. Stop listening to me."

"Peacecraft, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Stop asking. No, whatever. I'm not going to make much sense pretty soon. Not that I think I was making much to start with. Might be better if one of us doesn't remember this stupid conversation anyway."

By the sudden, muffled static, Zechs got the distinct impression that Wufei was attempting to cover his end of the phone. He heard the boy's voice anyway, low and rumbling like sound through a tunnel. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll say goodbye." And then, loud and clear once more, "Peacecraft? I have to go."

"Who was that? Who did you talk to?"

"Just one of the staff. Why?"

"What's it like there?"

"I really have to go. I'm sorry. Maybe you should speak with one of the nurses before you go to bed."

"I've got a doctor's appointment later anyway."

"Tonight? But, it's already almost eight."

"I know. I'm late. He'll be pissed, but fuck him. I have to anyway." Zechs laughed, low and mirthless.

"Look, I will be in trouble if I don't get off the phone right now."

"Are you going to tell me to never call again?"

"Why would I say that?"

"I don't know. Everyone else keeps saying it."

"That doesn't make sense. (Yes, sir, I'm hanging up right now) Peacecraft? Take care."

* * *

"Hi, Ms. Noin?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because," said Meiran. "That's the only person who should be calling. This is Zechs, isn't it?"

"What if it isn't?"

"Then you sound remarkably like him. Didn't I already tell you once to stop calling?"

"I guess I'm bad at listening."

"You're bad at a lot of things. What did you say to Wufei to make him so upset?"

"I made him mad?"

"No, you idiot." She puffed out air, quick and angry. "You worried him."

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that."

"At least have the decency to sound sincere."

Zechs pressed his forehead to the cold glass. "I really am sorry."

"I don't care. Don't-"

"Call ever again. Right, I heard you."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Shit. It's you."

"Fuck you, Milli or Zechs or whatever the hell you want to be called. I'm still mad at you."

"Fair enough."

"Wait-"

* * *

"Hello?"

"Oh, Jesus, will you please just start answering with your names?"

"Peacecraft? Is that you? It's Wufei."

"So the last name thing only goes one way?"

"What? What does that... Oh. Look, I'm glad you called, but I can't talk right now. I have homework."

"You have what?"

"Homework. Listen, Peacecraft, about the other day-"

"Don't. Whatever I said, it was dumb. I never should have called you anyway. You shouldn't have to listen to me when I'm like that."

"Like what? I don't understand."

"You wouldn't. Forget about it."

"Well. I hate that you had to waste a call token. I really can't talk right now. Tomorrow's Friday, why don't you call then? Say, at seven? That's right after dinner. If you have enough for another token so soon."

"What? Oh, right. Sure. If you want."

"Well. You don't have to."

"No, I will. I didn't mean it like that."

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

Zechs laughed. "You shouldn't take what I say so seriously, but it does make this easier."

"I'm sorry? I don't understand. This is Peacecraft, yes?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"It's fifteen after. I thought maybe you wouldn't call."

"No. I said I would, didn't I? Sorry I'm late. I got held up."

"It's all right. What happened?"

"Nothing. It's not important."

"All right. How are – How was dinner?"

"Fine. Boring. Hey, tell me, what's it like there?"

"Here?"

"Yeah. Where you live now. What's it like?"

"It's just a house. There's not much to it. Why do you want to know?"

"Is it better than the hospital?"

"Well. I don't know. I guess. Yes. We can do whatever we like for the most part. There's a staff member here at all times, but if we ask permission we may leave during the day. It's just a house."

"You can leave?"

"Yes. If I wanted to."

"But you don't."

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're very curious."

"Too much, you mean?"

"I wasn't going to say it."

"But you were thinking it."

"You're very observant. I'm not sure I like that."

"Is that a joke?"

"Perhaps. It is good to hear a friendly voice. Could I ask a favor? Is Maxwell near? Would you mind if I said hello? He's likely used all his tokens calling Yuy by now."

"He's not here," Zechs said. He tried to wash the anger from the words.

"Oh. All right. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? Stop it."

"All right. Well."

Zechs tapped his head against the glass. "Tell me something else. How's school?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Seemed like the sort of thing to ask. You're not very good at answering questions, are you?"

"I don't think you are, either."

"You're also not very good at telling jokes."

"No, I guess not."

"Fair enough."

"I can't tie up the line very long."

"Is that your polite way of telling me to hang up?"

"Oh. No. No, I didn't mean it like that."

"Relax. I guess I'm bad at telling jokes, too. I'll call you again sometime."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Meiran?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Zechs. You going to hang up on me?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

"Hey. It's me."

"Oh, hello. Been a while."

"Sure. Sorry about that."

"It's all right. I didn't mean it like that. I thought maybe you ran out of points."

"Sure, something like. How was your day?"

"Fine," he said quickly. "Listen. That reminds me."

"Yeah? I'm listening."

"Can I ask you a question? It's rather personal."

"Sure. I might not answer."

"That's fine. I wanted to ask... Do you like Treize?"

"Do I what? Jesus, Wufei, what the hell kind of question is that? Is this about the other day when I called? I already apologized for that."

"No, no. I didn't mean it like that. I wanted to ask you a favor and, well, I was thinking if you liked him, this would be easier."

"_What_ would be easier?"

Wufei took a deep breath, all slow intake and long sigh out, so clear and steady through the phone. "I wanted to, um. Well, Peacecraft, this is quite awkward. I wanted you to d-date him. Again."

"You what?"

"Or make him think you are, if you don't like him anymore. I just want you to talk to him again."

"Why?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Jesus, Wufei, don't you think I have the right to know?"

"Forget about it."

"Hell no. You don't get to do that to me."

"Fine. Okay, fine. He's a stupid flirt. You know that, everyone knew that. It's causing problems for me again. I thought that if he had someone the flirting would stop. You seem safe enough."

"What kind of problems?"

"If you don't want to I understand. It was a very dumb idea in my head, but now hearing it aloud I've realized it's a rude one as well. I'm sorry, Peacecraft."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it. What kind of problems?"

The silence on the other end stretched so long that Zechs had to say, "Hey, Wufei? You still there?"

"I'm here."

"Look. You ever play Truth or Dare?"

"Maxwell has attempted to play it with me, yes."

"So I've got an idea. We'll just do Truth. A couple questions each, and the other has to answer honestly. How's that sound?"

"I'm not sure I like that idea."

"I'll let you go first."

"All right. How are you?"

Zechs chuckled. "Okay. Let's see. I guess… Honestly? Not too bad, I guess. Is that too vague or will you accept it?"

"No, that's fine. I couldn't think of anything else to ask."

"Okay, so, my turn. What kinds of problems is Treize causing you?"

"This is rather embarrassing. I'm not sure I want to play this game."

"Oh, come on. Here, you go again. Ask me a real question this time."

"Fine. Do you like Treize?"

"Yes, but not in the way you're asking."

"Oh. I see."

"So, then, what about Treize?"

"Yes. Well. I suppose the simplest way to say it is that I am getting blamed for his actions. He is not subtle. There are too many people I do not know and who do not know me. It's difficult."

"What do you mean, too many people?"

"Ah. My turn, I believe."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure, go ahead."

"How is it you've been able to acquire so many tokens lately?"

"Simple. I'm not using tokens. My turn. What kind of new people?"

"At school. I'm attending a public school. Did I mention that? It's on a trial kind of basis. Noin thinks I'm ready for it. How are you not using tokens? Did you sneak into an office or something?"

"I'm not at the hospital."

"Excuse me? You're what?"

"It's my turn."

"I do not wish to play your stupid game anymore. What do you mean you're not at the hospital? Did you get released? How come you didn't just tell me? How come you kept lying about Maxwell?"

"I was going to get released. My mom wanted to send me to boot camp. I decided to make a run for it instead."

"Peacecraft. That is," he paused. "Incredibly reckless. My time's almost up. I need to go."

"Okay. Hey. I'll call you tomorrow?"

"What? Sure. Call at four. I'll be home from school by then."

"Sure."

* * *

"Hello?" The voice was bright and distinctly feminine.

"Er. Hi. Can I talk to Wufei?"

"Oh, he's not here."

She didn't say it like Zechs expected, but he offered anyway. "Treize or Meiran, then. That's fine."

"No, silly. I said he's not here. You want me to take a message?"

"Sure. Just tell him Zechs called."

"Are you his _boyfriend_?" The word dripped poison and cruel taunts.

"No," Zechs snapped. "Don't be stupid."

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

"Is this too late for you to talk?"

"No," he said slowly. "It's fine."

"I called earlier, but you weren't in."

"Yes. I'm sorry." Each sound came out thick and careful.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine." His voice caught on the "m" so it came out nearly like "ib fine" instead of the intended words.

"Hey. Seriously. Where were you earlier?"

"I got in a fight."

"You what?"

"It sounds better to say that I got in a fight rather than to say I got beat up."

"Jesus, Wufei. I'm sorry. You okay?"

"Yes. You hit much harder and didn't break my nose. He didn't have much of a chance. Although that certainly didn't stop him from trying."

"Who?" Zechs growled. "Your roommate?"

"No. It was after school. I told you, Treize is causing me problems."

"Oh. Shit. Wufei, that sucks."

"It's always been like this. Except at the hospital, I guess. Maxwell made it clear that anyone who had a problem with Treize could take it up with him. Well, until you came along, but I guess that was my fault more than his."

Zechs tapped the phone against the side of his head and silently called himself several types of stupid. "I'm sorry."

"Oh. Well, I didn't mean it like that. Is it my turn yet?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yeah. Sure."

"Where are you, if not at the hospital?"

"I'm staying at—" his throat closed violently around calling Doc a friend. "Just, a place."

"That is too vague."

"Yeah."

"Well. Okay. It's a school night, so, curfew is nine."

"Sure. Hey. Tell Treize hi for me?"

"What?"

"Treize. Tell him I say hi. I'll call again tomorrow."

"Oh. Yes, I'll tell him. Thanks."

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

"Hey. It's me."

"Hello."

"You weren't around much the last few days."

"Oh," he said, breathless like a sucker punch.

"I called," Zechs explained. "Twice yesterday, in fact."

"Did you?"

"And you didn't answer Tuesday or Wednesday either."

"I see."

"Well, excuse my concern. You getting into fights again?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"Peacecraft. Do you worry what might happen if you're caught?"

"Not really. Couldn't be anything worse than what was waiting for me in the first place. Why?"

"No reason."

"Hey. What's all this? You okay?"

"No." A breath shuddered over the telephone line. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what? What's wrong?"

"Everything. I thought I could do this. I should have stayed where I was. Even if you and Maxwell and Winner all left. I think I would have been better off staying. "

"We wouldn't have run off and left you."

"That's not what I meant. I am not sure what I mean."

"Well, I can't figure it out either. Calm down and start somewhere I can follow."

"Ask me it. Play that stupid game."

"Sure. Whatever you want. What happened today?"

"I blacked out again. When's your birthday?"

"February 18th. What do you mean, you blacked out? Did you faint?"

"No. It's just something that happens sometimes. I was at my locker between first and second period, and then I was on a bus across town. What's your favorite color?"

"Red. Did this ever happen at the hospital?"

"Yes. It's happened for years. That's why I keep my journal. It helps me fill in the blank spots. Why don't you go by your real name?"

"My mom named me after my dad and I hate him, so… Why is blacking out so much worse now? I mean, if it's always been like this."

"At the hospital, when I blacked out, I was still at the hospital. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You're supposed to ask a question."

"Uh," said Zechs. "What about before the hospital? Where were you?"

"A different halfway house. Similar to this one, I guess. I liked it there. I remember liking it there, so I thought this one would be the same. Have you ever been institutionalized before?"

"No. This was my first time. Why do you think this isn't working out?"

"Treize. He's worse than usual. And school is tough. It's high school. It's less about teasing. More physical. And I liked the freedom before, but now it's too much. I don't know where I am half the time. Noin thought I was ready for this." His breath caught, hitched, and then the line was silent.

"Your turn," Zechs prompted.

"I don't want to play anymore."

"Sure. We can just talk."

"No. I should go. We're not supposed to tie up the phone line."

"Oh, sure. Hey, Wufei?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to be fine."

"Your confidence is somewhat dubious. We barely know each other."

"See? You're a spitfire. I'll call you tomorrow."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's me."

"Oh, well, hello." The last syllable lowered dangerously into seduction.

"How was your day?"

"Marvelous. I love Fridays."

"How'd that chemistry test go?"

"I couldn't be bothered. I decided to go for a walk instead. Did you know there is the nicest park very close by the school? They have one of those massive monstrosities of a playground, the ones with big plastic tubes and covered slides. We should go there and make out sometime. It seems so much naughtier."

"You skipped school?"

"Tsk tsk, Milli. Here I am trying to offer stimulating conversation and you focus on the insignificant details."

"Wufei'd been studying for that test all week."

"Well now that's Wufei's problem, isn't it? Focus on me, Milli, or I'll likely get jealous. What are you wearing?"

Zechs grit his teeth against a rude comment. "Isn't the phone in the front hall?"

Treize laughed. "So modest. Whatever happened to sneaking whatever we could while the nurses weren't looking?"

"I told you, I—"

"Want to take it slow this time. I heard you the first seven times you said it, Milli. How much slower can we go over a telephone?" A feminine voice shouted something in the background. "Oh, dinner. Staffing drone Courtney cooked tonight, and she's barely capable of boiling water. Tsk tsk, I had a surprise for you, but it'll have to wait."

"What kind of surprise?"

"A good one. You sound excited! Fabulous. Hold on to that. Call back after dinner. Say, seven-thirty?"

"All right."

"Good! It's a date."

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

"Hi. It's me."

"Hello, Peacecraft. I am, technically, not supposed to speak to you."

"What? Why?"

"You stood Treize up last night. He's furious."

"Oh, shit. Yeah, I know. Something came up. An emergency, really. Tell him I'm sorry."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

"Well. It's in my interests that Treize behaves. What was your emergency? Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I guess. You don't want to know."

"Don't I?"

"Yeah, seriously."

"Oh. Well. As long as you're all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Listen, I was thinking. You can go wherever you want, right?"

"Yes. Provided I tell the staff and come back before curfew."

"When's curfew?"

"Tonight? Well, it's Saturday. So, ten o'clock."

"Hey, great. Why don't you meet me somewhere?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I don't know."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't know."

"Come on. You've been talking with me on the phone for three weeks now. There's no reason we can't talk face to face instead. Come out. Have some fun with me."

"I don't know…"

"You'll have fun. I promise."

"Okay. Fine. When?"

"Depends. Do you have to eat there?"

"No. I can eat out."

"Good! Okay, cool. There's a bus stop on 15th near Hobb Street painted up with an advertisement for the aquarium. You can't miss it. Meet me there at… six-forty, six-forty-five."

"15th near Hobb Street," Wufei repeated. "Wait, let me write that down."

"Got it?"

"Yes."

"See you tonight."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Two chapters in one day! Well, sort of. I've been working on this one on the side for a while now. Hope you like it! Felt like it was about time to touch base with Zechs (and Wufei).

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	61. Repaired

LSC / 01-17-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-One: Repair)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 61

**Repair**

* * *

Duo bounced the tip of his braid against the sofa arm like a whip. Whack, whack, whack, until the abused hair tie holding the chestnut plait together snapped off and flew across the room. "Oh, Goddammit," Duo grumbled. He got up to hunt out another one from among his things, which were piled unceremoniously to the side of the sofa. By the time he found another hair tie, the end of his braid had become unraveled, so he sat cross-legged on the floor to just redo the whole damn thing.

He glanced up to the door as Zechs entered. "Hey. Where you been?" he asked, lips moving around the hair tie clenched between his front teeth.

Zechs just shrugged and continued to work the towel through his damp hair. It was a dumb question, now that Duo thought about it, but he'd been on edge for over twenty-four hours and Zechs certainly wasn't helping things with his_ I don't give a fuck_ silences.

Duo snapped the band over the end of his braid but stayed sitting on the floor. He watched while Zechs disappeared behind the curtained enclosure in the back and then came back out, several minutes later. Duo let out a low whistle. "Look at you, Mister Fancy! Running low on laundry?"

"What?" Zechs said. He pulled a comb through his hair, laying flat the strands that wanted to fluff around his face. Dark jeans hugged the long line of his legs and a wallet chain ran from his back pocket to a decorative clip on the front. The black shirt plastered to his chest featured a skeleton design in bright, blood red. Besides the two leather bands at his wrists, he wore a chunky black and white checkered belt that flashed beneath the line of his shirt when he bent at the waist to brush out the far edges of his hair.

"You. You're all dressed up."

"So?" Zechs said. He straightened out and continued stroking the comb through his hair. As he turned, Duo caught sight of two long stripes of color, one black and one red, streaking his otherwise white-blond hair. "That some kind of crime now?"

"Blah blah, Mister Fussy more like it. Fine, whatever, whatever."

Zechs gave him a weird sort of look, like maybe Duo had inadvertently started speaking Esperanto, but didn't say anything. He disappeared back into the bed area, and Duo heard the distinctive sound of clutter being tossed around at random. Zechs reappeared with something clutched in his hand. "Hey, do me a favor," he said to Duo. It wouldn't be accurate to say he asked it.

"What?"

"Hold this mirror for me."

"What?"

Zechs sat on the sofa and held out a round compact. "You heard me. Hold this so I can see."

Whatever Zechs was doing was more interesting than doing nothing, which is what Duo had been thoroughly pre-occupied with not-doing right up until a few minutes ago… so he complied. He sat on the sofa and flipped open the little mirror.

Zechs uncapped the end of an eyeliner pencil and leaned toward the compact.

"Hey. Are you going out?"

"Yeah," said Zechs. He carefully drew a dark line under one eye and then smudged it with the side of his pinky.

"No way. You can't."

"What?" Zechs tilted his head to one side and studied the effect before starting on the next eye.

"You can't do that," Duo said. "I need you to go with me to Heero's. Didn't I tell you that last night?"

"You said a lot of stuff last night." Zechs blinked several times before touching up the corner of one eye. "I wasn't listening."

"Ze-ee-chs," Duo whined it out into three distinct syllables. It didn't sound very good. "Mill-ii-aa—" he started, which much better results, until Zechs snapped a glare at him. Duo clipped his mouth shut. "Come on, I'm serious."

"So am I. I broke my plans last night for you, didn't I? Hold the mirror straight."

Duo snapped the compact closed instead. Out of fiendish spite. Take that, blondie. Yeah! Zechs glared at him, looking surreal with one eye completed and the other only half-done, like a Dalmatian dog with crooked spots. Duo sighed and popped the mirror back open for him. "Well, when are you going to be back?"

"Late. Whenever I feel like it." Zechs finished up with his eyes and took the compact back from Duo.

"Seriously? Come on, Zechs. You know I can't go over there alone."

"So don't go."

"I can't do that either."

Zechs rolled his eyes. "Go call Trowa, then. Just don't bother me about it anymore."

"Oh. I guess I could do that." Duo rummaged around in his pockets for some change. "Do you think the doctor would mind if I just used the phone in his office?"

"Yes. I know he would. Here." Zechs rattled a quarter and a dime out of his own pocket. "Nearest payphone is just across the street, next to the bank. If you tap the hook really fast just before the line disconnects it sometimes spits back the change."

"Okay. Cool," said Duo. He thundered down the stairs and outside. The wind grabbed and whipped at him for a second, carrying with it the threat of rain despite the cloudless sky above. He shook his fist menacingly at the blue expanse, like he could bully it into behaving, and hurried across the street to find the pay phone.

Duo leaned against the wall of phone booth and listened to the steady ring, ring, ring. His eyes caught on a small, scratched off bit of paint that exposed the metallic base of the phone. It looked like a V, or maybe W, or a sideways Z, if he tilted his head just right. Duo dug a nail into the paint and worked to make it into a D instead.

"Hello?" came a sudden, soft voice on the other end of the line.

"Holy shit, Trowa?"

"What? No. Who is this?"

"Who the hell is this?"

"Duo?"

"Stalker!"

"What? Duo, it's Quatre."

"Oh!" Duo yanked his hand away as a stubborn chip of paint jabbed painfully into the fleshy part underneath his nail. Fucking ow. "What are you doing answering the phone?"

"I thought it was Catherine calling."

"That still doesn't make sense. Hey, what are you and Trowa doing later? At, like, eight or whatever. Heero wanted me to come over, but Zechs is too busy playing pretty, pretty punk princess to come be my bodyguard."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Duo. We can't. Trowa was just supposed to pick me up and come straight back last night. We got in a lot of trouble with Catherine. She took the car with her to work and keeps calling to make sure we're still here studying."

"That sucks. How mad is she?"

"Mm, I think she was just scared. She said it was too late to fight about it, though, and was gone this morning when I woke up… (It's Duo. Did you want to say hi? Sorry, you know what I mean. Okay.) Duo? Trowa says hi."

"Right back at ya. Do you need me to come get you anything?"

"(He says hello.) What? No. I'm fine here. I don't think she's that upset. She didn't say I had to leave or anything. Are you still going to Heero's?"

"I don't know. I guess not. Maybe. What time is Catherine getting back? Do you think you can weasel away later? He won't even be home from work until later."

"I don't know, Duo. I don't want to press things… You understand. (Trowa? Can you give us a second? Thanks.) I think she's worried about Trowa. Because. You know."

"What happens when you leave Trowa unattended with sharp objects? Gotcha, cutie-Q, say no more. I understand. Well, you stay there and holler if you see Trowa trying to make toast in the bathtub or something."

"What? Duo, don't be so… Okay. I'll see you later, then."

"Bye, kiddo." Duo reached quickly for the switchhook and bounced it several times in rapid succession. With a victorious metallic clinking sound, two coins dropped back into the return. He fed them back through the machine and slowly dialed a half-remembered number in hopes it was the right one.

"Green's Autobody," said a quiet and terse voice. At least he was trying to sound polite about it.

"Heero? Is that you?"

"Yes. I am at work, Duo. What do you want?"

"Duh, you're at work. What, did you think I dialed this number wanting to consult on a tire rotation for my imaginary Volkswagen? Vroom, vroom."

"I'm at work," Heero repeated.

"I wanted to talk to you about tonight. You got a minute?"

"Yes."

"Knowing you, I literally have one minute. Stop watching the clock. Okay, so here's the deal. I'm not coming over tonight. I thought you at least deserved a heads up about it. Don't freak out and go all weird on me about it, either. Okay?"

"Why?"

"Lovebird squadron Q-T (holy crap, cutie Q-T why did I never think of that earlier) has flown the nest, and Zechs is dolled up like a glam-rock wet dream for a night out. He's probably going out clubbing again, so I'll jump on that fun train and tell him that if he can't sneak me in I'll blow his cover to the bouncer that it's a fake ID or something. Anyway. That's why. I don't have anyone to make sure you don't baff me over the head with a waffle iron and drag me back to the hellhole formerly known as Home Bittersweet Mental Hospital Home."

Silence stretched on the other end of the line.

"Hello? Maxwell to Yuy? You still there?"

"Yes. Let me think."

"Are you making a list?"

"No."

"This better not be eating into my time. Are you still watching the clock? Stop watching the clock. You know, some people say shit like 'do you have a minute' and they actually mean—"

"You are trying to say that I am not trustworthy."

"Well. Yeah. I guess. Christ, you go right for the gut. Hell yeah, Heero, of course I can't trust you. Didn't we just talk about this? Baff, waffle iron, crazy cage for Duo. Or whatever you have in mind. Drugged waffles? No more waffles, by the way. I know you can eat the same thing every single day for the rest of your life, but—"

"Duo. Be quiet."

"Are you trying to think again?"

"Yes."

"Are you making a list?"

"No."

"You should make a list."

"Shut up."

"That's not very nice of you. Didn't the top of the 'Shit Duo Likes' list say 'when I am nice to him?'"

"If you come over at eight I promise…"

"You promise what? Is there more to that sentence?"

"I will not do anything against your will."

"Yeah, right. Can I get that in writing?"

"Yes."

"Good lord. I was joking, Heero. Seriously. Don't write that down, okay? You give me your word, though, no funny business? No calling the hospital, no straitjackets, no baffing me upside the head, no using my arm as a handle, no mysterious car rides, nothing like that? We'll just, like, talk, or whatever it is you want to do. Right?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Maybe. Okay, fine. I'll see you at eight. Swear to God, Heero, if you break that promise I'll… I'll… I don't know what I'll do, but I know you definitely won't like it."

Duo forgot to click the switch fast enough and lost all his change. The satisfying slam that receiver made going back into the cradle was worth it, at least.

* * *

Zechs left disappointingly early, and Duo found the empty room in the empty downtown building in a weekend-deserted financial district so depressing that he instead rode the bus aimlessly to kill time. He meandered his way to the west side of the city where Heero lived and walked a huge circle around the neighborhood to slaughter even more time before heading over just a little past eight, so it wouldn't look like he'd been waiting. Take that, Heero, who was always punctual. In your face.

Duo pressed the buzzer. No one answered at first, so he pressed it again. The door squawked out a protest and unlatched without Heero saying anything over the intercom, which seemed a little strange. Duo bounced on his heels as the elevator lurched unsteadily up to the sixth floor. A faint burnt smell wafted down the hall, not like one of Heero's neighbors was a smoker, but an unpleasant charred aroma.

The distinctive sound of a fire alarm frantically beeping greeted Duo when the door opened. Heero turned away without saying anything and rushed back to the kitchen. His hair was a damp snarl, and he wore nothing but a towel around his waist. Smoke roiled up out of the oven.

"What the hell?" Duo laughed and nudged the door closed.

"Just a minute," Heero snapped. He actually sounded panicked. The smoke detector screeched murderously from its position above the cabinets.

"Oh, you learned about figurative uses of time! I'm so proud of you," Duo teased. He followed him into the kitchen. "What happened?

Heero jerked the oven door open and waved frantically at the black smoke cloud that leapt out of the oven and up into his face. "I don't know what happened," he said.

"Clearly, you burned something. Hey!" Duo's laugh broke off into a squeaked protest as he saw Heero reach into the oven. He threw himself forward, but too late to catch Heero's arm. Heero recoiled with a sharp yelp, shaking his fingertips. Duo knocked his hip into Heero's side and pushed him away. He snatched a dishtowel off the counter and used it as a makeshift oven-mitt.

"Hot, hot, gah!" The cake pan clattered against the stove as he dropped it before the heat could sear through the cloth. Duo coughed, waved smoke from his face, and slammed the oven closed. He twisted the dial firmly to off and then jumped several times, just barely able to slap the smoke detector. After a few hits, the front casing fell off and clattered to the floor. It had the effect of shutting the damn thing up, at least.

"Dammit, Heero," Duo laughed. He ran the faucet and turned to find Heero standing there, one hand clutched to his chest and eyes locked on the burnt husk of whatever he'd been trying to bake. It still pulsed smoke, but at a slower pace than before. Duo grabbed, caught, and pulled Heero's hand underneath the cold water.

"I didn't mean to burn it," Heero said.

"Really? I thought maybe it was your new cooking technique. Roasted ashes ala charred disaster, by Heero Yuy. Does it still hurt?" Duo looked critically at Heero's fingertips, which had turned a bright, cherry red.

"No," said Heero.

"Liar." Duo stuck his hand back under the water. "Geez, Heero. What were you thinking? When shit's smoking, it's generally hot, okay? You gotta be more careful. Do you have a first aid kit or burn cream or something?"

"Yes."

"Where, in the bathroom? Stay here and keep running water over it." Duo cautiously released Heero's hand and, when he just continued to stand there obediently, went in search.

Wet footprints soaked into the carpet and led the way through Heero's bedroom. He found the shower still running, so he turned off the water before looking through the cabinets. Sticky notes covered all the edges of the mirror, and Duo let his eyes wander over them. _Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Floss: Monday, Wednesday, Friday_. There was even one in the corner that said, _Smile_ with a hilariously stiff and awkward smiley face for illustration.

He found the first aid kit underneath the bathroom sink, wedged in between a bulk case of cheap two-in-one shampoo-conditioner and the wall. Before returning to the kitchen, Duo rifled through Heero's closet to find him some clothes. Not that he didn't appreciate the fresh-from-the-shower towel look, of course.

Heero stood right where Duo left him."Here, put these on," he said, handing Heero the bundle of clothes. Duo turned off the water and set the first aid kit on the counter. He popped open the plastic case to see what sort of medical supplies lay inside.

Heero shuffled his boxers on underneath the towel and then carefully draped the towel across his singular bar stool. "I didn't mean to burn it," he said again.

"Yeah, I believe you." Duo tapped the note taped to the front of the oven. "Says right here, Heero. Turn off before leaving for work, bed, or shower. Did you forget?"

Heero pulled the shirt down over his head and nodded.

"Well. Don't worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes. Here's some burn cream. Stick your hand back over the sink again; I don't want to make a mess." Duo gently tipped Heero's hand up where he could see the red burns. They weren't blistering yet, at least. He used his teeth to tear open the single-use cream like a ketchup packet, which probably diminished its antibacterial properties now that he thought about it, and slathered it over Heero's fingertips.

"You know," Duo said quietly. "We should get you one of those oven timers that instead of just dinging makes a huge buzzing sound. Like, keeps making noise until you shut it off. You can't rely on the smoke detector or you'll burn everything."

"I know," Heero said.

Duo found some strips of gauze and began to slowly wrap the worst looking spots, right across the pad of Heero's thumb and index finger. "Also, I think I broke your smoke alarm. My bad."

"I can fix it."

For whatever weird reason, Duo became hotly and acutely aware of their proximity. It wasn't like Heero had moved, or really done anything more than stand there meekly while Duo administered his half-assed medical treatment, but the feeling persisted and twisted up such a sudden awkwardness that Duo hastily let go of Heero's hand. "There," he said. "I guess that's okay."

"Thank you," said Heero.

"Whatever." Duo threw the leftover gauze and tape into the first aid kit. He stayed facing the counter, staring down at the red cross on the case, because that somehow seemed like the sensible thing to do. He cleared his throat. "What were you trying to cook?"

"A cake," said Heero. "Are you hungry?"

"I guess. Don't worry about it though. You really burnt the shit out of this cake." Duo poked a finger into the crusty, charred surface.

Heero used his knuckle to punch open the microwave door. Without using the tips of his fingers, he awkwardly lifted a plate out and set it on the counter. A few slices of lukewarm pizza. Clearly Heero's culinary efforts had gone into the now-ruined cake. Duo fought back and lost against a grin. He snatched up one of the slices and munched happily; ham and pineapple, his favorite, because it was bizarre and vaguely sweet.

Heero leaned up against the sink and watched. Silence descended between them. Duo felt the urge to break it, like a powerful itch, and it build and build until he burst out with the first stupid thought in his head, which was, "If your hand hurts I bet I can score you some killer pain pills, like, trip the light fantastic, la-la-unicorn-land pain pills."

Predictably, this made Heero frown. All he said, though, was, "It doesn't hurt."

"Yes, it does. You've got that funny line between your brows, like when you fucked up in P.E. and took a basketball straight to the face."

"I don't remember that."

"Probably not. It knocked you off right off the bleachers, and you had this awful concussion. I had to wake you up every four hours so you wouldn't die or fall into a coma or whatever."

Heero's brows tipped together. "I do remember that. You threw the ball."

"Hey. I shouted 'heads up!' It's not my fault you didn't catch it." Duo grinned, and the corner of Heero's mouth twitched up in response. It made Duo's stomach feel funny, and he had to look away to the floor as if something down there was totally more interesting than Heero smiling. "So, anyway," Duo said. "Yeah. Offer stands."

"It doesn't hurt much," Heero amended.

"That I'll believe," Duo said. He grinned down at the white and black floor tiles.

Heero bent and gathered up the scattered remains of the smoke detector. He looked up at the part still attached to the wall before setting the rest of it on the kitchen counter. His absently rubbed the wrapped tips of his fingers together, very lightly.

"You can fix it later. Give it a day to heal. They didn't look that badly burned."

"I know," Heero said. "I have something for you." He picked up the towel off the bar stool.

"Besides a burnt cake? Sure," Duo said.

He followed Heero out of the kitchen and back into the bathroom. Heero hung the towel across the rack. And then just stood there, staring at Duo.

"What?" said Duo. He took a wary half-step back. "Did you get me a towel rack? I fucking love it. Come on, creeper, stop staring at me. What is it?"

"Nothing," said Heero. "Never mind."

"Oh, that is so not fair. You don't get to do that."

Heero scowled. "Fine," he grumbled. The bathroom connected through to the spare bedroom, which was a fact that Duo had always known but never really thought about. Heero always kept it closed off, or at least he had the all of two (three, counting tonight) times Duo had seen his stupid apartment. Heero opened the connecting door and fumbled the side of his palm against the light switch.

Duo stepped into the room like walking into a crime scene. His eyes flicked rapidly from bed to desk to walls to closet to bed to desk to Heero. "What the fuck?" he said at last.

"Do you like it?"

"Heero. Pot, kettle, black. Glass house, rocks. All that shit, right? This is crazy." Duo took another step into the room. And then another. He crossed all the way to the desk and picked up the puke-green lamp. "Did you break into the school and steal this? It looks just like my old one."

"I found it," said Heero, and there was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. Like a little kid on Christmas morning.

Duo shifted his gaze in an arc over the movie posters that crowded the walls. One of them was even crooked, which was so like him, except he hadn't done it. Duo set the lamp back down onto the desk and brushed a hand through the clutter. Hair ties, blank scraps of paper and pastel crayons rolled out of the way. He picked up a candy bar.

"Oh. I wouldn't eat that."

Duo flipped it over to check the expiration date. August of that year. He set the candy back to the desk. He turned and found Heero watching him from the doorway. "What is this?" he asked. He tried to sound demanding. It came out frightened and unsure.

Heero shrugged. That little line squiggled between his eyebrows as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Do you like it?" he asked again.

"Sure," said Duo. A stupid lump was in his throat. "I mean. It's insane. But it suits me. It." Stupid, stupid lump. At least it was dissolving into a softness. Oh, wait. He blinked. "Why?"

"It's yours," Heero said. He advanced. Duo pressed back against the desk. Gauze, soft and scratchy, brushed across Duo's bangs and down the side of his neck, snagging a stray strand of hair out his braid. Heero had always liked his hair.

"Why?" Duo asked again. He lifted his chin and swallowed something salty like tears and stubborn like old wounds.

"Because it is," Heero said.

"What if I don't want it?"

"Do you want it?"

Duo closed his eyes. It felt like falling even though he was standing still. "Yes."

"Then it's yours."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

And this is what happens when I have a 4-day weekend. Unfortunately today is the last day. I'll see how much more I can get done tonight, though.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	62. Triple

LSC / 01-19-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Two: Triple)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 62

**Triple**

* * *

Zechs stepped off the bus in a good mood. The sun hovered low in the horizon, large and orange but bright, with summer heat fully melted in gentle early autumn warmth. Perched prim and beat at the end of the bench inside the whale and dolphin decorated glass enclosure was a Chinese boy with two stiff bundles of black on either side of his face. Zechs's stomach dropped precipitously. The good mood vanished at once. He slouched both hands into his front pockets and strode over to make the best of a bad situation.

Meiran spotted him and got to her feet. She was dressed simply, in a plain grey shirt and jeans, with Wufei's glasses hanging from the shirt collar. "You look ridiculous," she said.

"Right back at you," Zechs muttered. He took a sharper look at the bruises that marred and blotched Wufei's face, but they were all faded. The freshest had to be from last week, at least. "Well, come on then," Zechs said.

"No," said Meiran. "I only came because I knew Wufei wouldn't want to stand you up. I have no intention of doing anything other than going home." She tried to step around him, wanting to get on the very bus that Zechs had just stepped off from.

"Oh, don't be like that." Zechs set a hand against her shoulder, gentle but insistent. "I'll buy you dinner."

She stared up at him. "Why?"

"Why? I don't know. I promised Wufei he'd have fun."

"He's not here," Meiran said pointedly. "I am."

"Whatever. Then you'll have fun."

"How am I going to have fun if you're around?"

Zechs grit his teeth. "What did I ever do you? And don't say it's what I did to Treize or Wufei, either, because as far as I know neither of them has a problem with me."

Meiran glared at him. He hated seeing that look on Wufei's face. It was stubborn and mulish didn't seem to match the boy's aloof seriousness; even when Wufei scowled, it carried a hint of playfulness, like you were in on joke and so was he. With Meiran it was unfiltered dislike, like you were scum beneath her shoe, and it got under Zechs's skin and rubbed him all the wrong ways.

"I don't like you, and I don't trust you. I'm going home," she announced.

"No, you're not." Zechs held her in place long enough that the bus departed. She shook her shoulders free of him and huffed out of the bus stop. Zechs followed her easily enough, his long strides meeting her short, furious ones. "You walking home?"

"Yes. If I have to."

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You've already missed dinner at the house. You want cold leftovers? Come on. My treat. Just eat with me, and then I'll take you back home myself. Hell, we can take a cab back if you're sick of the bus."

She rocked to a halt. Suspicion swelled in her dark eyes. "Fine," she snapped at last.

Zechs grinned. "That's more like it. Here, let me see you for a second."

"Why?"

"Just trust me." He carefully worked free one of the hair ties. The pigtail came loose in his hand, and Zechs ran his fingers through the black silk. He took down the other one as well and smoothed the hair back from her face. "There. You should wear it down like this."

"I like it up."

"You look cute this way."

Pink marched across Meiran's face, flooding the bruised skin and turning the freshest marks to an ugly purple. Dark eyes crackled electric with a keenly embarrassed fury. "Don't be stupid," Meiran managed to say. "You're a dumb flirt. You're worse than Treize. You two deserve each other."

Zechs laughed and pocketed the stolen hair ties. "Do you want pizza or burgers? I know a great place for either."

"Burgers. Courtney scorched her casserole last night, and we had to order pizza."

"Is that one of your roommates?" Zechs kept a careful eye out for oncoming traffic before leading her across the street.

Meiran shook her elbow free of his chivalrous grip. "No. The staff cooks, or they're supposed to at least. More often than not we just get pizza or Chinese."

"What's the staff like?"

"They're nice enough I guess." Meiran tilted her head up at him. "Why do you keep calling?"

"Not to talk to you, clearly." Zechs winced. "Uh, forget I said that."

She laughed. "That's honest of you, at least. I want you to know, I voted against Wufei's stupid plan to distract Treize, but at least it's working. So I should be grateful to you for that."

"Yeah, well," Zechs mumbled. He checked the street sign as they turned a corner. "No problem."

"Did you really just run away?"

"Pretty much."

"How?"

Zechs thought for a moment he'd gone the wrong way, but then he saw the chalkboard easel on the sidewalk. As they drew near the restaurant, the steady sound of a jukebox pulsed out to the curb. Zechs hauled the door open and caught Meiran looking at her reflection in the dark, tinted glass. He pretended not to notice.

Large flat-screen televisions dominated whatever wall surface wasn't taken up with beer signs and sports pennants. The round tables were covered in red and white checkered cloths. A bar wrapped one entire end of the restaurant, but Zechs requested that the hostess seat them at the far opposite end, up against the windows so they could see out to the street. Meiran poised on the edge of her chair like maybe she was thinking about bolting for the door.

Zechs swiveled the Lazy Susan full of condiments around in a circle. "Hey. You want to order anything to drink? I can show her my ID, and we'll say you just lost yours."

"No," said Meiran. She frowned. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm not old enough to drink."

Zechs grinned at her, but before he could reply the waitress popped up with her notepad at the ready. She rattled off the special, which was a blue cheese burger with sweet potato fries, and barely glanced at Zechs's fake driver's license when he ordered a beer. "You can try mine and see if you like it," Zechs offered.

"Okay," said Meiran warily. "You were just about to tell me how you managed to escape."

"Was I?" Zechs twirled the condiments again. "I don't think I was."

"I thought you said you wanted me to have fun."

"I said I wanted Wufei to have fun."

The waitress dropped off two red plastic cups full of ice water and Zechs's beer. "You ready to order?" she smacked out the words around a wad of chewing gum.

Zechs got the special and, after a brief glance at the menu, Meiran stuck with a plain cheeseburger. The waitress tucked their menus up under her arm and wove back between the other tables; the crowd had gathered underneath the largest of the multiple television screens, engrossed in a football game, leaving their side of the restaurant relatively empty.

"I'm very curious," Meiran admitted. "Ever since Wufei told me."

"Uh-huh," said Zechs. He started to slide the green bottle across the table at her but hesitated, fingers curled around the condensation-soaked label. "You're not on any weird medication where you can't drink, are you? I don't want to melt your brain."

"No," said Meiran. "At least, I don't think so. What kind of medications are like that?"

"Anything like Valium, Xanax, Paxil, Zoloft, Prozac…"

Meiran arched a brow at him. "You seem to know a lot about this."

Zechs forced a smile. "I'm just trying to be responsible."

"Well. I don't take any medicine."

Zechs pulled the bottle back across the table. "Does Wufei?"

"What does that have to do anything? You don't have to share if you don't want to. I'm not the least bit interested anyway." She tossed her head, sending ripples through the black curtain of hair.

"Fine," said Zechs. "One sip can't hurt."

She took the bottle from him and peered at it critically. She slowly tipped the green glass to her lips and drank. Meiran made a face and set the beer back on the table.

"It's an acquired taste," Zechs said. Nicely, with his charming smile.

"I didn't say it was bad. It's familiar, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes," said Meiran. She frowned, and it was the same puzzled look that Wufei got, mixed with her ire, so it was like she blamed Zechs personally for whatever riddle her brain was working through.

"What?" he asked, after a long silence.

"Nothing. Are you going to tell me anything interesting?"

"Depends. You ever play Truth or Dare?"

"No. That's a stupid game." She tossed her head again, a motion that usually sent her pigtails wiggling back and forth. It looked more dignified without them. "Treize got in trouble once for kissing Roger Jenkins on a dare. At least, that's what he said it was."

Zechs poured half the bottle down his throat to drown the funny little flip-flop his stomach made at her words. "So you have played."

"_I _haven't," she said with emphasis.

"Come on. Think about it, you can make me tell you anything you want. Do anything you want."

"Yes. And you can do the same back to me."

"Well, that is the point of the game."

Meiran narrowed her eyes at him. She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of their food. Zechs waved off the waitress's offer of a second beer. Meiran spun the Lazy Susan back around to find the ketchup, and for a while neither of them spoke.

"How's your burger?" Zechs asked at last, tired of the silence.

"Good. Fine, I'll play with you. But don't make me do anything weird. And I get to go first." Meiran dragged a french fry through the puddle of ketchup on her plate.

"Fair enough."

"All right. Truth or Dare, then, I guess."

"Well I know you want to, so, Truth."

Meiran rolled her eyes. "How is this any different than if you'd just told me in the first place?"

"It's more fun this way."

"If you say so. What'd you do to escape?"

"Went out the window in Doctor Richards's office after lights out. I had access to the key." Which was, technically, the absolute truth. He didn't feel obligated to tell her (or Wufei) that he'd had help or company. Zechs smiled around the top of his bottle. "Truth or Dare."

Meiran big a much too-large bite and chewed methodically, clearly stalling for time. She swallowed, took a drink of water, and finally said, "Dare, I guess. But nothing stupid, or I won't do it."

"I dare you to go see a movie with me after this."

Meiran flicked her wrist up to consult her watch. "That is stupid. I won't have time. I have to be back before ten."

"So? We'll see whatever's shortest, or walk out halfway through if we have to. What does it matter?"

"It's still stupid."

"So?"

Meiran streaked another french fry with ketchup, glared, and set it to the side. "Fine. So long as I'm back before curfew. I don't want to get in trouble."

"I promise to have you home before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, princess."

"Ha ha," she said, dripping sarcasm through each distinct syllable. "I'm serious."

"So am I. I'm not going to get you in trouble."

Meiran considered him, weighing the sincerity of the words against her crystal clear suspicions. "Fine. Truth or Dare, then. I'll play until the check arrives." She pushed her half-empty plate to the center.

"No dessert? I've had their brownie sundae before, it's pretty good."

"No. We'll never have time to get through the opening credits otherwise."

"Fair enough. I'll pick Truth again." Zechs swiveled his head around and caught the waitress's eye. She gave him an acknowledging smile and finished passing out a round of drinks to the loudest of the football-cheering tables.

"Why do you keep calling?"

"Because I'm bored and the three of you are interesting. Well, Wufei and Treize are, and even you, I guess. You always have a fun new way of telling me to go to hell before hanging up, at least."

"I do not! I have not ever told you that. I-"

Zechs chuckled and held up a hand to hold off her tirade. "That was a joke."

"It wasn't a very good one."

"Yeah, well, I know. I'm working on it. Truth or Dare," he said quickly, catching sight of the waitress coming over toward them with their check.

But Meiran had already taken a huge swallow of water, and she held it in her cheeks like a chipmunk until the check hit the table. She swallowed so hard she nearly joked, but grinned sharply in triumph at him anyway. "Game over."

Zechs smiled back at her, with an overestimated amount of indulgence, because it made her scowl. He tucked enough cash to cover their meal into the check holder and pushed back from the table. "Well, come on. There's a theater not far."

Meiran scrambled up after him and matched her shorter strides to his. They walked a few blocks, a distance small enough that Meiran accused up at him, "You planned this from the start."

"Yeah," Zechs said. He paid for two tickets to a movie that had started fifteen minutes ago. "You're just now figuring this out?"

"I'm just impressed you can plan that far ahead," Meiran said haughtily. Zechs leaned the door open for her. She stepped inside and half-turned to him. "I want popcorn. Buy me one of those large ones with free refills."

"Yes, princess."

"Stop calling me that," she snapped. The bruise below her eye had darkened into a purple again, betraying a blush.

"That's just begging for me to say 'yes, princess' again, you know."

"Your jokes are definitely not funny."

Zechs shrugged and approached the concession stand. Meiran requested extra butter and remembered to be polite about it to the acne-speckled teenager behind the counter. The usher ripped their tickets and waved them through the rope with a bored, "Theater Four," as if the giant arrow-filled sign behind him didn't exist. Zechs slipped both ticket stubs into his pocket and led Meiran down the hall.

Despite being the fourth of ten screens, their movie ended up being at the far end of the hallway. "Do you like popcorn?" he asked as they walked. Meiran had already eaten several large handfuls, and the tips of her fingertips had a greasy shine as she went back in for more.

"No, I hate it. I wanted a big bucket of it to wear as a hat. Don't ask stupid questions," she snapped.

"I just didn't take you for the popcorn type." Zechs reached the door first and held it open with a shoulder. He reached for a handful of popcorn, but she slapped his hand away.

"Well, I am. You should have gotten your own if you wanted some," she whispered.

Zechs scanned the rows of the pitch-black theater until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He spotted some empty seats near the center and reached back to take Meiran's hand, thinking to guide her through the dark. The hand pulled harshly out of his, and he heard her hiss, "I can see just fine."

They settled into their seats. Zechs had no idea what the movie was supposed to be about, other than it had been showing at the right time, and it swiftly became clear he had inadvertently chosen a romantic comedy. It made catching up with the simplistic plot easy, at least. Boy, girl, cute-meet, love rival – Zechs snuck handfuls of popcorn when Meiran wasn't looking, or maybe she saw and chose not to stop him. He got a kernel stuck between two molars and remembered why he never really cared for popcorn anyway.

Meiran scraped her hand through the kernels at the bottom, frowned, and then half-rose out of her seat. Zechs caught her wrist and tapped at the watch, wondering if he'd lost track of time, but she shook her head and gestured with the empty bucket. "Free refills," she mouthed. Zechs released her hand and sat back into his seat.

On screen, the love interest walked slowly down a street while green summer leached into brilliant autumn and fell into cold winter; it was a neat shot, if cliche, and over the montage a mournful song played. Zechs hadn't really been paying that much attention to the movie, but a girl a few rows forward wiped furtive tears from her cheeks, so evidently it was time for the second act betrayal.

Zechs focused on trying to work the kernel out from between his teeth while Meiran wasn't there to see and make fun of him. He had jabbed the fleshy bit of his gum enough times that he was about ready to swear off popcorn forever before the fleck of kernel popped loose. He glanced up on the screen to watch the boy and girl smash their faces together in a cheesy Hollywood kiss. Good for them. He must have missed the intervening drama between betrayal and make up in which the boy takes the girl's friends on dates instead. Oh, wait, Hollywood.

Zechs tilted his head, trying to see the entrance. Meiran should have been back by now; in between show times like this, it wasn't like she'd have to wait in line at concessions Zechs sat there debating if he should be concerned before remembering he had both their ticket stubs in his pocket. He slid between the seats to go in search of her, already braced for the resulting lecture.

No one stood next to the same bored-looking usher or in line at the desolate concessions counter, where the acne-faced teen fiddled with the soda fountain nozzles. A stream of carbonation sprayed over his hands and the kid muttered a likely profanity under his breath before guiltily looking around to see if anyone had overheard. Zechs slowly raked his eyes from one end of the lobby to the other, taking in the arcade machines, cheesy cardboard stand-outs for the next blockbuster, potted plants… and a slim grey and denim figure standing in front of the wall of framed 'Now Playing' posters, clutching an empty popcorn bucket.

As Zechs approached he became aware of the big details and moved down into the smaller ones; glasses back on, shoulders square and back straight, brows knotted forward with a look of intense concentration as dark eyes slowly moved between each poster. Wufei lifted a hand and absently pulled the inky tresses into a knot before letting them fall forward again. Zechs remembered the hair ties stuffed into his pocket, probably next to the movie tickets, and stuck a hand in to dig for one.

"Hey," he said.

Wufei visibly startled, all but jumping at the sound of Zechs's voice. Dark eyes flashed with a relief so strong it betrayed the depth of fear that must have come before. Wufei's throat worked through a reflexively swallow. "Peacecraft," he said, voice so smooth and even that Zechs might have thought he'd imagined the earlier strain. Might have, if he was stupid.

"What are you doing?" Zechs's fingers closed around the hair tie. He pulled it out and ran the band slowly between thumb and fingers, curling and uncurling the responsive elastic.

Wufei's hands clutched over the rim of the bucket. His eyes flicked sideways to the concession stand, where large illustrated signs advertised the cost-effective advantages of the large popcorn, before returning to Zechs. "I am getting a refill."

"Sure," said Zechs. He offered out the hair tie. "I think you dropped this."

"What? Yes. Thank you. I must have." Wufei took it from him and quickly bound his hair back into a single tight bundle. "Is the movie over?"

"Yes," lied Zechs.

"Oh, that's too bad." Wufei released his white-knuckle grip on the popcorn bucket. He suddenly thrust it out toward Zechs. "Did you want to keep it? For next time. They let you reuse it."

"Nah," said Zechs. "Give it to Meiran. Tell her it'll make a nice hat."

"Yes. Okay," Wufei agreed. "I'll do that." His dark eyes wandered for a moment across Zechs's face, into his hair, down the length of him, and back up again. "You look different."

"Good or bad?"

"I don't know. Different."

Zechs shrugged, uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny. "My mom picked out all that stuff I wore at the hospital. Button-ups and khakis aren't exactly my style."

"I see," said Wufei. "Red suits you. I can see why it's your favorite color. Did you dye your hair?"

"No, they just clip in. What time is it?"

"Hm?" Wufei tipped his watch into view. "Nine-thirteen. Oh," he said, frowning down at the clock face. "I have to get back."

"Sure. How far do you have to go?"

Wufei kept staring at his watch.

"Wufei?" Zechs prompted. "Where do you live?"

"What? Oh. 5124 Columbus Avenue."

"Columbus? North or south of the Expressway?"

"North, I think," Wufei said. He smoothed a hand over his hair. "I don't know." Zechs watched the boy's chest fill and release around a slow, deep breath. "I got directions from Shirin House to that bus stop, hang on." He started searching through his pockets.

Zechs watched quietly as Wufei searched each pocket, came up with nothing, and then started digging through each one again. He pulled out a handful of quarters, some lint, and a pink eraser from his front pockets, replaced all the items and then drew a small Velcro-sealed wallet from his back pocket. Wufei ripped it open and pulled out a square piece of notebook paper.

"Here we are," Wufei said. He unfolded the directions. "So if I just reverse these… I need to take the seven bus to Plume Street, and then transfer to the twelfth. That will take me to Newland Park, and I can walk home from there."

Zechs ran the route through his head for a moment. "Why don't you just take the ten straight up to Tufton and walk from there? The seven takes over the eight's route at night and runs slow as hell through that whole fancy residential section near Bryant."

"If you think so," Wufei said. He gave him that puzzled look, the one that seemed so ill-suited for Meiran, and Zechs made his charming smile in response. Something backfired, because Wufei suddenly scowled and turned his head away. Without another word he strode out from the theater. He shoved the empty popcorn bucket at the nearest trash can and then paused, head turning one way and then the other to search the street.

Zechs came up beside him. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing. Thank you for the navigational advice, but I can figure it out from here. Goodbye, Peacecraft." He picked a direction, the wrong one, and started walking.

"Wait," said Zechs. He lengthened his stride to catch Wufei's brisk one. "I'll go with you."

"There is no need for that. I can figure it out."

"I want to see where you live." Zechs thought about using his charming smile again, but switched it at the last second for something that was neither charming nor a smile.

Fortunately Wufei did not so much as glance at him. "There is no need for that, either. I know where I'm going."

"I'm sure you do," Zechs said.

Wufei did look at him then, with a sharp edge of anger, enough that it set Zechs back a step. He said nothing, however, and continued forward to the end of the street. And turned the wrong way again, but with such confidence that Zechs might have thought otherwise. If he was stupid which, suddenly, seemed a very real possibility due to how the evening was turning out.

"Hey." Zechs was now hurrying to keep up. Wufei could move surprisingly quick without breaking out of a walk; he wasn't quite running away, just doing a damned good impression of it. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what, Peacecraft?"

Warning bells went off in his head. They reached another intersection and, before Wufei could make yet another wrong turn, Zechs caught the boy's elbow. "Like, I don't know. Like the kind of way that makes you angry."

"I am not mad."

"Sure," said Zechs.

"Let go of my arm."

"No. You have no idea where you are or where you're going. Stop trying to run from me and just accept some help. Jesus, Wufei, it won't kill you to let me be nice to you."

"That," Wufei said, eyes narrowing into a glare at the words. Under the bare street lights, Zechs caught a flood of color suffusing Wufei's face and setting the bruises to darken.

"Now you're mad." Zechs often did not know when to shut up. As soon as the words left his mouth… he knew it had been one of those moments.

Wufei's brows flew down into a terse V as he readied himself for a response, likely with something full of scorching fury and bleeding sarcasm, because it seemed like such an opportune moment for it. But, he didn't say anything. His dark eyes unfocused and blanked out so quickly that Zechs feared for a second the boy might faint. He tightened his grip on Wufei's arm

"Hey," he snapped. He gave him a shake, hard enough that Wufei's head lolled back and forth. "Don't you fucking dare."

Change, slow and absolute like snow melt. He tilted a pretty smile up at Zechs. "Hello, Milli. Don't I dare, what? Are we playing a game?"

"No," said Zechs. He tried not to sound sulky about it. He slowly uncurled his fingers from Wufei – no, Treize's elbow.

Treize slipped up next to him and pressed close, like a cat winding around its owner's ankles. He looped both hands around Zechs's arm and hung there, smiling up at him. "You're even better looking than I remembered. Runaway life completely agrees with you. Let me see your hair, is that red in it?" He pulled Zechs further underneath the street light. "It is! How delightful. I love it," he purred the words, so it came out as, _I luurrvvve it._

Zechs managed a smile. "Thanks," he said, because it was nice that at least one of them appreciated his efforts, even if it was only Treize. "Come on, let's get you back home."

"Oh, where's the fun in that? Curfews are meant to be broken. We have the whole night and the whole city and the whole world stretched out before us for the taking. Wait!" he gasped dramatically and reeled back. "I'm supposed to be furious. You stood me up last night. I waited all night for you to call."

"I know. I'm sorry. Something came up."

"What could possibly be more important than me?" Treize pouted at him. "But, you look so pretty, I suppose I can forgive you this once. I'm the soul of graciousness, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Won't you take me out on the town, Milli? You're so dressed up, it seems a shame not to capitalize on it. Take me dancing, take me drinking, just," he paused and broke into a very wicked and not at all shy grin. "Just take me anywhere you like."

Zechs took a deep breath. And then another, because the first one had done nothing to dismiss the frantic skipping sensation in his chest at Treize's sultry tone. "I have to take you home," he said. He tried to sound firm about it. "I promised."

"Oh, posh. How can you stand there looking so lovely and say such cruel things? You'll break my heart, Milli, just when I had finished gluing all the pieces together. Come here, give me a kiss, and I just might forgive you."

Zechs bent forward and placed his lips against Treize's forehead. He gently removed Wufei's glasses and clipped them back on to the neckline of the grey shirt. "There," he said softly. "Now will you please be good?"

"I'm always good," Treize said, with a smile that was anything but.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	63. Double

LSC / 01-20-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Three: Double)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 63

**Double**

* * *

Treize kept his elbow looped through Zechs's arm as they walked. Zechs tried to ignore the soft and warm feeling that spread traitorously out from his arm and deep into every other part of him. He tried to think about something else, like trigonometry or advanced particle physics, or popcorn kernels stuck in his teeth, or maybe the furious look on Wufei's face just before he went away. Tried, and kind of failed, because all he could think about was Wufei's voice in his head saying, _I wanted you to date him again_, like he hadn't already suffered sleepless nights and headaches worrying over it.

Rather retrace their earlier path to the painted-up aquarium bus stop, which he'd mostly picked for its ostentatious design, Zechs cut through two alleys, a parking garage, and one small side street to a different bus stop, which was really just a metal sign bolted on to a pole. Treize tipped his head into Zechs's shoulder and made a small, contented sound.

"You know," he said. "I should be angry that you asked Wufei out to meet you and not me. All this time we've been talking on the phone and you were just a bus ride away. I'd be jealous, but Wufei is so boring I can't imagine why you ever would have done it in the first place. Must have been out of pity. I can assure you, I'm much more exciting."

Zechs stopped his hand from stroking a stray hair away from Treize's face. Stopped it cold, so his hand just hovered there in the air before falling back to his side. Awkward. He looked up at the cloud of bugs that swarmed around the bare bulb of the meager street lighting. "Sorry," he said.

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

Treize shifted away from him. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You're all ice again, Milli. I don't like it when you get this way. Are you going to start ignoring me again?"

"No." Zechs wrapped an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and pulled him close again. "I didn't say that."

"You never say it. That's the whole point of ignoring someone. If you just told me, 'I'm going to ignore you now' it wouldn't be very effective, now would it?"

"I'm not going to ignore you."

"You're the Prince of Ice," Treize declared, but he smiled when he said it.

They boarded the bus, with Treize waiving an electronic pass over the censor and Zechs plugging quarters into the machine. They chose to stand near the middle exit doors, since a crotchety old woman who smelled like too many cats and not enough soap occupied the front, and three teens in baggy sweatshirts sat in the back. Zechs eyed them for a moment, but the kids were too busy rehashing some particularly vulgar story to pay them any attention.

"What'd you get a bus pass for? I thought you walked to school."

Treize tucked the card back into his wallet. Before he could pocket it away, however, Zechs closed his hand over it. Treize relinquished his hold without fuss. "I'm not an agoraphobe like Wufei. Noin bought me the bus card so I could go wherever I like."

More like, Zechs realized, so that Wufei could find his way home again when Treize went wandering. He forced away a frown and looked idly through the meager contents of Wufei's wallet. Besides the bus pass, he had a few dollars, a school lunch card, a student ID (with a particularly unflattering picture), and one of Noin's business cards. Zechs slid the card free of its slot and flipped it around; in handwriting he didn't recognize, so presumably the caseworker's, was a phone number and,_ anytime 24/7 call me_.

Zechs replaced the card and returned the wallet to Treize. "Do you like her?"

"Who, Noin?" Treize pocketed the wallet. The kids in the back began carousing and high-fiving, apparently excited by the novelty of the word cunt, which one of them kept repeating. Treize shrugged. "We don't see eye to eye on great many things. I can't say as I've ever truly enjoyed her company. There's entirely too much of telling me what to do whenever we speak. I prefer to avoid her at all costs."

"Oh. Well, she gave you the bus pass at least."

"I wanted her to teach me how to drive. I've been asking her for years now. She keeps putting me off with 'maybe when you're older' but I'm almost twenty, and I can't drive. That's terribly embarrassing."

"I could teach you, but I lost my license. My legit one."

Treize cocked an eyebrow at him. "How did you manage that?"

"Stole a car. And then accidentally wrecked it, so." Zechs shrugged. "I'm banned from driving until I'm eighteen, at least. Probably longer since I've racked up a few parole violations since."

Treize's eyes glittered with amusement. "Stole a car and wrecked it? Darling, to have been there! Was the wreck scary? Were you injured? Oh, you didn't hurt your poor, pretty face, did you?" He set his fingers under Zechs's chin and tipped it sideways and back. "I don't see any horrific scars."

Zechs smiled, and it was dangerously close to his real one. "No. I didn't hurt my face."

"Good," purred Treize. "As a token of my appreciation, you may give me another kiss, Milli."

Too late, Zechs registered the silence from the back of the bus, the entrancing way Treize leaned up toward him with lips parted, and what his own stupid, giddy face must have looked like. Without seeming too obvious, he checked out the situation. The three teenagers were watching them, and they did not look happy.

Zechs straightened to his full height. "Maybe later, Treize," he said quietly.

"Why not now? You're being very standoffish, my ice prince." And he smiled with such tease and flirt that it had to be obvious.

"Not now," Zechs said. His shoulders prickled with the uncomfortable weight of attention.

The playfulness slid from Treize's face. He rocked back on his heels. "Oh?" he said, rolling the sound off his tongue. Dark eyes shifted from Zechs to the back of the bus, and Treize lifted his chin with a smug look that would seem infinitely more self-assured if not for the half-healed bruises across his face.

Muttering reached Zechs's stretched out attention, the words indistinct but their crude and spiteful nature clear.

"Yeah," he said to Treize. "Don't worry about it."

"Huh." Treize shot a challenging look toward the three kids in the back, and likely would have made some childish, taunting face if Zechs had not shifted abruptly to block his line of sight. "Backing down from a fight, Milli? That's very unlike you." He tipped his head to one side.

Zechs reached for the cord to signal a stop. "Let's just get off here."

"You're not just backing down. You're running." Treize lifted an incredulous brow at him. "Can't you hear what they're saying?"

"Yeah. It doesn't matter."

"I'm pretty sure one just insulted your hair. Your lovely hair!" Treize raised his voice in accusation. Zechs flicked a cautious look to the teens behind them, to see if they'd heard Treize, and of course they had. The bus lurched to a halt.

"Let's go. Just go," Zechs muttered. He took Treize by the arm and to guide him gently from the bus at first, and then with urgent roughness when the boy tried to resist.

"Coward," Treize protested. "If these Neanderthals don't like us they can say it to my face!" His voice rose with each word, so that by the end of the short tirade they were both the target of dark muttering. The three teens rose up out of their seats, and Zechs knew he was stuck in a bad situation that was getting rapidly worse.

"Treize, just shut up," he growled under his breath. "Move your ass." He shoved Treize down the last step of the bus.

"Hey, you," called one of the teens. "Fags." His friends laughed, cruel and mocking.

Zechs kept a tight hold of Treize's arm. He wrapped it through his and started them walking. Blood pulsed at his temples, hot, angry, frantic, making his vision throb until he became dizzy with it. "Don't respond, keep moving," he told Treize. Or at least, he hoped the words left his mouth. They were racing themselves silly across his thoughts. _Don't respond, keep moving_.

He felt Treize stumbling along beside him, unable to keep pace with Zechs's long, furious strides, and heard the boy protesting, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he was going to regret it. There were only three, versus the two of them, even if Treize ended up being more of a distraction than a help, and it wasn't so much that Zechs thought he might lose as that he was afraid he would win. Afraid that Treize's half-healed bruises would gain company, and afraid what might happen if he let all the bottled up fury inside him out, if he let the tiger's smile reign supreme. Afraid he would feel alive for the first time in weeks, and afraid he would never stop. Would never want to stop, and it'd be just like back then all over again, and he'd be staring down at a pair of shocked onyx eyes, watching blood drip onto lips he'd once kissed, and feeling nothing but ice cold satisfaction.

"Milli, you have to slow down. They're not following us. Please, Milli. I'm sorry I tried to provoke them."

Zechs halted and flung Treize free of his arm, sudden enough that the boy stumbled back and fell against a row of newspaper vending machines. He rocked one hard enough that it made a metallic clatter, the change inside shifting back and forth with the motion. "Hey!" Treize snapped. "I said I was sorry!"

Zechs slumped to the curb and sat, hunched over his knees. He knotted his fingers back through his hair to grip the base of his skull. Maybe if he held on tight enough, the mad pounding would go away and leave him able to think about something else, something besides the feel of his knuckles breaking over skin and the slick-rough sensation of blood and bruises. Maybe, or maybe not. He shuddering in a deep breath and out a shaky one, like that was supposed to be calming, and closed his eyes against the sick, spinning vertigo. Head between the knees, wasn't that the position to prevent fainting? He swallowed a coppery tang as the rush of pulse in his ears became a distant roar.

"Hey," said Treize again, in a much different tone. He set a tentative hand against Zechs's shoulder and joined him on the curb. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," managed Zechs between clenched teeth.

"Yes. You certainly give all appearance of being fine. Milli, what's wrong?"

"Shut up! Stop calling me that."

"Well!" huffed Treize. "There's no need to take it out on me!" He bounced to his feet; the words were coming from somewhere above him now, pelting down like raindrops. "I don't understand you, Mil- Peacecraft. Zechs. Whatever it is you do want me to call you! Now, get up off the street and show me the way home. I don't know where we are, and there's no point in breaking curfew and getting myself into trouble if I'm not even out having fun. And this decidedly does not qualify as fun, my prince of fire and ice. Not in the least."

"Treize," he said. "Treize. I'm sorry. Call me whatever you want." How long would he be out, if he fainted? Would he wake up somewhere else as someone else? Then maybe he'd understand it, and not manage to be so stupid about it all the time.

"Not you're definitely not being fun, if you're not even going to let me be mad at you." He sounded sweet about it. Zechs wasn't sure he liked that tone and those words coming from Wufei. Or, Treize, this was Treize talking to him. Maybe he needed to puke and not faint after all.

The anger was draining out slowly, like blood from an old wound, and weakening him all the same. When he was pretty sure neither his stomach nor his head were likely to hit the pavement, Zechs opened his eyes and cautiously lifted his head from his knees. He found Treize crouched in front of him, and he immediately disliked being the focus of such careful concern. Treize smiled encouragingly when Zechs looked at him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Sure."

"You've gone very pale. Are you quite sure?"

"No. Jesus, Treize. I don't know. Leave it alone." Deep breath in, slow breath out, the shrinks would be so proud of him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Treize rose to his feet and extended a hand to help Zechs stand up. "It's all right. Do I get to know what all that was about, or must this remain part of your mysterious charm?"

Zechs looked around for a moment, trying to place their location. "What time is it?"

"Nine-forty-two. Am I going to be late?"

"Not if I can help it. Come on." He set a brisk pace, but made sure it was one Treize could keep. Each step reminded him, _your head hurts_ or maybe _it's your heart that hurts, stupid_. Which was exceedingly crazy, even for the situation, so Zechs tried not to think about it.

"Why do you not like being called Milli? I thought it was a very clever nickname. It's so impossibly cute whereas you're quite large and handsome, kind of like how enormous men get called Tiny? Something in that sort of vein, I suppose, was my thinking on the matter. I wasn't intending to make you angry with it."

He took them down an alley so narrow they barely fit around the plastic trash bins and ignored the question. "Here, I'll give you a boost," he said, since the lane ended with a low brick wall. Zechs wove his fingers together to provide the shorter boy with a foothold. Once Treize was up and over the wall, Zechs jumped, reached, and scrambled over. He dropped down to the other side.

"Oh, I know where we are," Treize said. "This is that park I was telling you about, the one with all the plastic tubes. How much time do we have?"

"Not enough," Zechs reminded him. "How far is your house from here?"

"Not far. I can find the way from here."

Zechs shrugged. "I'll walk you to the door at least."

Treize smiled, dark eyes glittering in the pale light. "Aren't you a gentleman? I like when you're the Sun Prince better than the Prince of Ice. Keep that in mind for next time."

"Sure," Zechs said. It seemed like not at all the right thing to say, but Treize slipped a hand inside his as they walked, so he must not have minded the poor response.

He let Treize lead, and the boy took him through the park rather than around. They passed underneath the dark and silence roof of trees; the only sound their own footsteps and the very soft and distant sounds of the city elsewhere, outside the pleasant little neighborhood that surrounded them. Middle class families, two car and two parent households, full of dogs that barked with friendliness instead of anger, and somewhere among them a halfway house that probably didn't belong, but Zechs was glad it tried to fit in anyway.

"My mom calls me Milli," Zechs said quietly. "That's why I don't like it."

"I see," said Treize. He gave their entwined hands a squeeze. "I certainly do not want to remind you of your mother, but, maybe that's all the more reason why I should continue. It should be what _I_ call you, not what _she_ calls you. I'll teach you to associate Milli with all the good things in life. And by that I mean myself, of course."

"Sure."

Treize turned them into a curving cul-de-sac lined with stately, large homes. "Well. Think about it... Zechs."

"I guess that does sound weird, coming from you."

"Does it?" Treize drew to a halt in front of a tan house with a basketball goal hanging over the garage door. A grey hatchback sat parked in the street out front, slightly out of place with the sedans and SUVs of the neighboring driveways.

"Yes." Zechs said. "This you?"

Treize nodded. He released Zechs's hand and looked up expectantly, lips parted and eyes dark as the night but bright as any star. "Well. Goodnight," he said.

"'Night."

Treize looked down at his watch. "I still have three minutes."

It made him smile. Not the charming one, not the tiger's smile, not even the regular plain one he used when none of the others seemed right. It wasn't exactly his real one either, or at least not the one he gave Charlotte, that always felt like the real one. Maybe this one was Treize's smile, and the boy didn't even know it was only for him as he looked back up at Zechs with an echoing smile, sly and clever and playful and not the least bit embarrassed or reserved. Zechs bent his head low and kissed lips that were soft and pliable, willing and eager. All the good things in life.

* * *

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	64. Single

LSC / 01-22-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Four: Single)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 64

**Single**

* * *

As a very young child, Zechs believed that God lived behind the pulpit, somewhere amid the beautiful stained glass that sent rainbow beams of light streaking into the church. He was too young to remember when or how this belief took him, and by the time he was old enough to really dwell on it, that simplicity of faith had passed. It left him fond of stained glass, but always a little embarrassed to look at it, like maybe God really was on the other side staring down on him in disapproval.

His mother never stayed in one place long. Homes changed, jobs changed, boyfriends came and went, but every Sunday they went to church, no matter how hung over, even if it meant the noon Mass so Charlotte could sober off enough to drive. The churches changed along with everything else, so they didn't always have stained glass. Zechs could no longer remember what that first set even looked like, but that Sunday as he knelt and let the flow of Latin wash over him, he peaked through his bangs at the colored glass and wondered if it could be the very same.

When Duo came in that morning, bleary-eyed and unbraided, wearing the same clothes in which he'd left, Zechs had been on his way out the door. They exchanged only mutual surprise at seeing the other awake before dawn; Zechs had wanted to make the seven-thirty Mass and, as Duo explained, Heero worked "too goddamn early for humanity."

"Things went well, I take it," Zechs had replied. "What with your walk of shame and all."

And he'd said it so lightly, with enough of his charming smile, that Duo laughed rather than took offense. It'd been a good start for the day, and for once Zechs felt happy at church, rather than guilty, and said all the responses as distinct words rather than mumbles. When Charlotte sat beside him, her eyes shone with a strange and peaceful look that she only ever had at church, a look that was so full of love and happiness that, as a child, Zechs felt burning jealousy toward God, or maybe the priest, or whatever it was that his mother loved more than him. That feeling, like the stained-glass heaven, faded to something embarrassing as he grew older.

The seven-thirty was not a popular time, and it assured him that no matter how sober, there was no chance of Charlotte attending. He'd tried to pick a church well outside her wandering ground, to avoid her and to be avoid being recognized by the parish, even though his attendance over the last year had been spotty at best and neglectful at worst. He tried to time it out so he arrived just before the start, so he could slip into one of the last rows and scan the rest of the congregation for her bright platinum hair, just in case.

The priest must have rushed the homily, because they were done well ahead of schedule. Zechs had time to walk around the block and smoke a cigarette before penance times started. He finished his cigarette across the street, keeping a careful eye on the parking lot as people started to trickle in early for nine o'clock service. Ladies in dresses, men in crisp suits, sleep-eyed little children in their stuffy and stiff best; Zechs felt downright dowdy in his plain button-up and khakis, the very same stupid outfit he'd worn out of the hospital and nearly thrown out, but in the end decided to keep. He didn't think his other clothes would go over very well at this congregation, way up in the rich side of town where everyone drove shiny new cars and the fat ugly broaches the old ladies wore likely cost the same as the cars.

Zechs tamped out his cigarette and pocketed the butt; he'd throw it out later, where God wouldn't be watching, which was an idle habit he'd unwittingly picked up from Charlotte. Zechs was pretty sure smoking wasn't a sin, but the one time he'd tried to go against habit such an anxiety rose up in him that within minutes he'd been on his hands and knees, searching through the grass.

He slipped back into the church and made his way to the confessionals. When he was young, his mother would take him in hand and send him in first. He'd have to kneel inside aware of her presence, nearer and more terrifying than God. Zechs drew the velvet drapes closed behind him and knelt in the warm, dim confines of the booth. His hand moved of its own accord, up, down, across, as his mouth formed the proper words. He'd always liked the rituals. "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last Confession."

"What would you like to confess today?" The priest had a pleasant voice, wise and mysterious like always, and Zechs remembered another embarrassing misconception he'd had once, where he mistook the voice on the other side of the screen as, literally, his father, a man he was still young enough to idolize.

"Well," said Zechs. He clasped his hands together and stared at the knot his fingers made. He always found it helpful to start at the top of the commandments and work down. "You shall not number one, I have withheld in confession. Two, I took the Lord's name in vain... several times. Maybe a dozen, maybe two. I don't keep count, Father. Three, no. Four... I disobey my mother with every waking breath. Number five, I felt anger and wished evil upon others. I didn't kill anyone at least, so unless you're going to count drinking to excess as killing my liver, which I did twice, I'm good this week. You shall not number seven, I stole eight dollars from a barista's tip jar. I broken open and stole twenty-seven dollars and fourteen cents from a charity donation box outside a gas station. I stole a friend's hair tie. Number eight. I gave a lie of omission eight times and out-right lied maybe six or seven times. I was not sincere in my actions and deceived a friend, three times. Numbers nine and ten, Father, I have indeed coveted and had my heart full of envy."

"To be unrepentant of sin is to be without God's grace," the priest said gently.

"What? Oh. Number six. I engaged in oral sex five times. I kissed once. I had lascivious thoughts and acted on them, you know, solo. I think that's all."

For a moment, the priest was silent. Then, in that same careful, prodding way, he said, "To simply tell me these things is not enough. You must be sincere and open about the nature of your sins."

Zechs closed his eyes. You shall not number eight; he'd add the lie in with the rest. He always did. "I did those things with a girl from school. We're not married. Obviously. So, it's a double sin, Father."

"To have lustful thoughts and urges at your age is not uncommon. The Lord understands, but you must not act on these impulses. You must find strength in God's love and keep your actions pure."

"I know."

"Do you have any other sins to confess?"

"Not really. O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended —" Zechs started to rattle off his Prayer of Contrition, but the priest interrupted with a soft, "Just a moment, my son," and he was seven years old again, thinking the man on the other side of the screen was the original Milliard.

Zechs fell silent. So did the priest. Finally he said, "Yes, Father?"

"I have taken your confession three times, and each time you admit to withholding sin. It's always number one," he said, referencing Zechs's commandment count. Zechs immediately bristled at the soft, smiling tone. How many Hail Marys would he need to say if he punched a priest? "Are you sure there are no other sins that you wish to unburden yourself of? The Lord is listening and ready to forgive you, but you must ask for penance and reconcile with God."

Zechs would need to find a new church, or make time for confession on a different day of the week at least. Maybe Saturday evenings. He needed a new priest, that was for sure, if this one claimed to recognize him. "No, Father," he said. Did the charming smile work through a screen? Did that sound as number eight, false witness? He'd have to add it to the tally for next week.

"I cannot absolve you of your sins if you don't confess them."

Zechs grit his teeth. "It is not a sin I want absolution for, Father."

"Do you not wish to be in a state of grace with God? My child," he said, with some small note of alarm, "have you been taking communion in a state of mortal sin?"

"No."

"When was the last time you received the Eucharist?"

"Easter."

He'd gone with his mother, and it'd been hard to tell who had the greater hangover. Charlotte liked to do her confession just before Mass, because she always had a hard time avoiding sin between six o'clock Saturday and nine o'clock Sunday morning, but Easter weekend she stayed home to do her drinking since there would be no confession before that Sunday Mass, it being a Holy Day. Alcohol isn't a sin, she assured him, and would tell Zechs yet again the story of her childhood priest who would come over sometimes for dinner and drink brandy with her father. He doubted either Father, Peacecraft or Holy, got drunk enough to scream at the neighbors' cat. Zechs'd matched her shot for shot that night, albeit without her knowing, and puked in the bushes between the parking lot and the church for his trouble. It was for the best that he got it out of his system early, before taking communion, as he was pretty sure vomiting the body of Christ on to the hydrangeas counted as a straight-to-hell deadly sin. All in all, it hadn't been one of his best Easters.

The priest spoke. "The first time you came to me, you said it had been five months since your last confession. You had a number of sins to confess, my child, so why admit all but one? Seek perfect reconciliation with God, stay for Mass, share in the Eucharist. This is the penance I assign you."

Zechs pressed his forehead into his knuckles. "Can't you just absolve me for the sins I did confess to? I'm not going to take communion with one still outstanding. I know better, Father."

"Then you know it doesn't work that way, my child," he said kindly.

Which was worse, admitting to withholding a sin from confession, or lying about it? Zechs knew he should have just added a few tallies to number eight and skipped number one entirely. He was trying, didn't that count for something? "Yes, Father. I understand."

"Good," said the priest. What kind of smile did the priest use? Was it a holy smile, something angelic like a Botticelli painting, or maybe something awesome, in the original sense of the word, the way that the stained glass used to feel? "Go on, son. Tell me your sin."

"Thank you, Father." Zechs rose to his feet, legs stiff and cramped as always from fitting them into the small booth. He heard the priest call to him, but he was already gone, leaving a little old lady who reeked of lavender and wealth to take his place. What sins could she have to commit? Forgive me, Father, I ate too many Oreos and fell asleep watching Oprah again. Forgive me, Father, I disinherited my grandson because he had the audacity to exist. Oh, wait.

Zechs stepped lit a cigarette on the steps of the church. A yawn stretched its way out of his mouth. It was a shame he'd have to find a new place, but at least he wouldn't have to set aside the extra hour for the long commute from downtown. Or maybe he liked the stained glass and Traditional Mass and rich old ladies and smiling nuclear families well enough that he'd go on Saturday to confess; Charlotte never could keep herself out of trouble long enough, but it wasn't like he needed perfect grace anyway. Zechs tried to toss the cigarette out, but old habits and all, ended up pocketing it.

* * *

"Hello, Wufei speaking."

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh, hello," he said. Wary, like he expected something awful to jump out of the phone and attack him.

Zechs shifted the phone into his shoulder. "Is this too early to call?"

"No, it's fine."

"Okay. Good. So. I guess I should apologize."

"For what?"

Warning bells. "For. Jesus, Wufei. You don't have to make this difficult."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. Last night? I'm sorry, okay?"

"I still have no idea what you mean."

"Are you being stubborn, or do you seriously not remember anything from last night?"

Of course it was the wrong thing to say. Zechs knew that as soon as he heard his voice forming each individual stupid word. He had no idea why he said it, other than he was an idiot. Hadn't he been in a good mood a few hours ago? So what if he was going to Hell? Was he trying to let that bother him? It wasn't like it was a surprise. Maybe it was Wufei. Maybe it was the insufferably cool and collected way that he rebuffed even the slightest kindness. Maybe it was petty revenge for Treize's bewildering sweetness and Meiran's constant hate. Or maybe Zechs was really just an idiot.

Wufei had yet to respond. Zechs spoke into the silence. "Yeah. Sorry. Forget I said that."

"Peacecraft," he said, in a strange tone that Zechs immediately disliked. "I am going to hang up now."

"What? Oh, come on. Don't pull a Meiran on me. Yell at me if you want, but at least talk to me."

"I told you about the b-blackouts," he stumbled over the word in a way that fell somewhere between anger and embarrassment, "because I trusted you."

"Yeah. I know. I said I was sorry. But, you blacked out most of last night. Am I right? It was when I found you looking at the posters, right? And then you have no idea how you got home, I bet."

"Trusted, Peacecraft. Past tense."

"Hardy-har. I'm not laughing."

"I'm not joking."

"Seriously, Wufei? What the hell are you trying to say?"

"Nothing. I'm done talking."

"What, forever? You taking a vow of Trowa?"

"No, just to you," Wufei snapped. And then, slowly, "How do you know about Barton?"

_Oh, shit. _"I, uh." _Shut up, shut up! Think faster, and don't say anything stupid. _"I heard about him. From Duo. And Quatre," he added.

"Uh-huh," said Wufei, and Zechs knew he was pretty much fucked. "I hadn't considered it before, but there's nothing to stop me from visiting the hospital. It is Sunday, after all. I could visit Maxwell."

"You could," said Zechs carefully. He wasn't a gambler. What was it about Wufei that always made him feel like one?

"Anything I should know before I go all the way out there?"

"Nope," said Zechs.

"Really."

"Yeah."

Wufei raised the stakes. "I could call Yuy and ask if he would like to go with me."

"So do it," Zechs said, calling the boy's bluff.

"Maybe I will."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Damn you, Peacecraft. Just tell me the truth."

"You wanna play me for it? I get to go first."

"No."

"You'll want to take the Lincoln street bus. That's the only one that goes out that far west. It's something like a thirty minute walk after that. Don't get lost," Zechs added, viciously. And realized that, if Wufei hung up on him, he probably deserved it.

"Fine! Fine. I'll play. Ask your stupid question."

"Why won't you just let me be nice to you?"

Wufei spoke through clenched teeth. It was obvious, the way he said, "Peacecraft," and Zechs at once decided that he hated his last name just as much as his first. "That is a dumb question. You are not nice to me."

"Oh, no. Of course I'm not. It's not like I call you every day and talk to you about your problems and put up with Meiran and Treize on top of all the joy and sunshine _you_ bring to the table. Naturally none of that counts as being nice. Nope, not at all."

"Regardless, that is my answer," said Wufei, so stiff Zechs thought the words might fall over. "Now it is my turn. Where is Maxwell?"

"Probably off fucking Heero Yuy for all I care. He's not at the hospital. Duo and Quatre thought up the escape plan in the first place, I just came along for the ride."

"Why did you not tell me? Why did you let me think Maxwell was still at the hospital?"

"You already asked your question. My turn. Why do you care so much what happens to Duo?"

"That is none of your business," Wufei snapped.

"That isn't a real answer. I'll let you slide on the 'I'm not nice' bit, but not on this. You answer me. Why do you care about Duo so much?"

"That is not the same question. Not the same question at all. You do not get to ask two."

"Fine, so, answer the first one. Why do you care so much what happens to Duo?"

"It is natural to be concerned about a friend. I knew Maxwell for a year. That is your answer. Now, are you trying to say that Yuy _knows_ that Maxwell ran away again, and they are, are... ?" and he let the sentence die there, as his words ran out of angry steam and shuddered to a heart-broken halt.

"Yeah," said Zechs. He tried to sound _nice_ about it. "I guess they are. Why do you care?"

"I don't." Oh, good, he was using contractions again, at least.

"I think you're lying."

"I don't care. Peacecraft, I don't want you to call again. This was a bad idea from the very beginning."

"What? Wufei, I—"

"Don't call Treize, either. I don't want you to see him anymore. Break up with him."

"You don't get to decide that."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Stop asking me questions!"

"Come on, Wufei, think this through. You're just going to piss Treize off again. I was helping, right? No more flirting, no more fights after school?"

"I don't care. You don't even like him. You told me you don't like him. I'm serious. Don't call again."

"Wufei, wait," Zechs said. The dial tone answered him, long and drawn out like a heart monitor flat-lining. It seemed appropriate.

* * *

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	65. Reading into Things

LSC / 01-26-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Five: Reading into Things)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 65

**Reading into Things**

* * *

"I wouldn't go in there, if I were you."

Quatre's reaction, which involved a sideways jump and a small yelp, set Duo to laughing. He sat wedged between the dumpster and the wall, all but hidden from view, but got to his feet as Quatre settled back down to some semblance of calm. "You scared me," he accused softly, tempering the words with a smile.

Duo tilted his head toward the backdoor. "Sorry, Quat. But, seriously, stay out here with me. You don't need to get involved in that."

"In what?" Quatre shifted his backpack higher up on his shoulders.

"Zechs. He's in a terrible mood. I've been sitting here debating if I should try to calm him down or make a run for it. How'd things go with Catherine?"

"Hm? Oh, fine," Quatre said vaguely, trying to dodge the question. "How'd things go with Heero?"

Duo rolled his eyes and heaved a comically exaggerated sigh. "Well. After he tried to burn his stupid hand off it was kind of hard to stay mad at him. And I managed to make it back here without goons in straitjackets popping out from behind a parked car, or a baff from a waffle iron. Kerpow," Duo said, rapping the side of his head with a fist for illustration and grinned. "So I guess it went okay."

Quatre frowned, and the puzzled look on his face made Duo laugh again. "I know, vague, right? That's kind of how I feel about it, too. We didn't decide anything. Like, about me and the crazy farm, so, I don't know. I might go over there again tonight and try to figure it out." Duo glanced at the wall beside him and then up, roughly to where the doctor's back office was located. "I have a feeling that this isn't the place I want to be tonight anyway."

"Oh," said Quatre. He followed Duo's eyes with some small amount of trepidation. "I can't go back to Catherine's tonight. I was going to stay here."

"Really? Fuck." Duo nibbled on the end of his braid. "Okay. Well, have you eaten lunch yet? Let's give Zechs a chance to cool off, then I'll pop upstairs with you and see what the situation's like. Sound like a plan?"

"Okay," Quatre agreed.

Duo grinned so brightly at him, with such good cheer and enthusiasm, that Quatre battered up a smile in return despite the gnawing curiosity that threatened to drown out all other thoughts. Generously mixed in with his unasked questions, however, were many accusations that Quatre knew he'd never have the courage to voice. He rubbed absently at his wrist, which was still the slightest bit tender from the other day's fall, and followed Duo into the street.

Afterwards they sat side by side on a park bench eating ice cream. Quatre had chosen plain vanilla, since he liked it best, while Duo picked his way through something on special that had three different types of chocolate and featured several exclamation points in the name.

Quatre swung sneakers against the ground in a rhythmic pattern. "Hey, Duo?"

"Mhm?" mumbled Duo around his plastic spoon.

"Nevermind." Scuff, scuff, went his feet against into the dirt. He kicked an acorn and watched it roll to a slow halt a few feet away.

"Uh-huh. Sure," said Duo. "Lemme use my physic powers. Nnnnnn," he hummed. He put a finger to his temple and squinted his eyes at Quatre.

It made him laugh. "It's really nothing, forget about it."

"Nnnnn," buzzed Duo. "I see... a tall, handsome man. He's got a bunch of hair swinging over half his face. You're there, too! I see... Oh, sick, it's getting R-rated! Too much psychic power! Abort mind reading!"

"Duo, stop it!" Quatre felt his cheeks burn. "I wasn't going to ask about Trowa."

"I didn't think you were. I just wanted to see how cute you look when I embarrass the hell out of you."

Violet eyes glittered with amusement as a playful smile ran across Duo's face. Quatre felt buoyed by his friend's happiness, especially since the last few weeks had been so tense between them. It made him all the more reluctant to ask his question, however, so Quatre just shook his head from side to side.

"Let me think... What could Quatre be thinking? Wait! I know!" Duo tilted his head to one side. "I owe you a major huge apology! You and Trowa got in trouble with Catherine because of me. Well, technically because of Heero, but I guess I'm sorta mostly responsible, and by that I mean I was pretty scummy about running off and leaving you. And then when Trowa popped up looking for you, I..." Duo shrugged helplessly, a suddenly miserable look replacing all his earlier good cheer. "Heero scares the fucking hell out of me sometimes. Geez. I probably owe Trowa a big apology, too."

"Oh, Duo. No. I'm sorry. Please, don't worry about it. I'm sorry," Quatre said in a rush, desperately guilty and eager to put a smile back on Duo's face. "Catherine really wasn't all that upset. I told her it was my fault."

"I guess you couldn't tell her, 'Sorry, Cathy, my crazy friend's utterly psychotic boyfriend held me fake hostage and then I had to stand outside and listen to them have this super huge awkward fight about nothing. My bad.' I mean. I guess you could, but you probably shouldn't. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't like that. Anyway. I'm sorry. I hope Heero wasn't mean to you or anything. I guess in his own stupid fucked-up kind of way he was just trying to... Well, no, I'm not that great of a psychic. I have no idea what Heero was trying to do."

"He wasn't mean to me."

"Yeah? That's good. I know he's hard to understand. Christ on crackers, I know he's hard to understand, like, I can barely make sense of him half the time." Duo paused to eat more ice cream, his expression more thoughtful than sad, but still not happy.

"I think," Quatre said. He let the words fall flat between them. A slow heat worked its way up his neck, suffusing into his earlier blush until he felt certain his face had to be a horrible bright red. He quickly shoveled ice cream into his mouth, like it would melt the burning, awkward embarrassment.

"Therefore, I am," Duo quipped. "Come on, cutie-Q, spit out the rest of your sentences. Don't make me try to read your mind again."

"I think Heero likes you."

Duo let out a single, sharp burst of laughter. "Yeah? You think? He fucking better. I can't imagine why else he'd," and it was Duo's turn to blush. He laughed again, long and drawn out, and Quatre felt a tangle of confusion as to whether or not he had said the right thing.

Duo abruptly reached out and smoothed his thumb over the space between Quatre's brows. "Hey, stop frowning like that," he said. "I'm acting like a jerk again, sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I swear. It's just... funny. I mean. I've never had anyone in my corner on this, you know? Trowa never really seemed to care one way or another about Heero, and then Wufei," Duo shrugged. "You know Wufei. He hates Heero, for whatever reason. Well, I mean, I guess I kind of know why."

"You do?" asked Quatre. He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice at the off-hand way Duo said it. According to Meiran, Wufei was jealous and, as far as Quatre had been able to figure out, Duo had no idea about Wufei's feelings.

"Yeah," said Duo. "The whole thing with Heero dragging me back to the hospital. I kind of flipped out about it. Which is a huge understatement, but we'll just roll with 'flip out' since it sounds better than saying I had a huge giant screaming violent fit followed by several dark hours in the quiet room drooled out on Thorazine or whatever the hell Cruella de Nurse shot me full of - and that was just the first day of my weeks-long pity party indulgence." He said the words lightly, with a forced calm, and his eyes were tight with pain as he spoke. Quatre thought back to his very first day, when Duo had rattled off his hospitalization history and included the brief escape foray, but he hadn't known Duo well enough then to understand.

Duo shook his head slightly and the hurt fell away in favor of his Cheshire grin. "Anyway, where was I? Right. Flip out. So, anyway, totally didn't help the whole Wufei/Heero diplomatic relationship. I guess Trowa could be harboring a grudge about it on my behalf, too, now that I think about it... which is kind of sweet that they'd care that much, but Wufei always took it too far." Duo paused, attention dropping back to Quatre. "So, yeah! It's nice that have someone back me up on this. Thanks."

"Um, you're welcome?"

"I'll take what I can get, at least." Duo grinned again and scraped out the bottom of his plastic bowl. "I'd never really seen Wufei worked up that much over something. At the time I guess I didn't really appreciate it, but now it's like, oh yeah. Wufei was just trying to look out for me. I wish he hadn't hated on Heero so much, though. I tried to tell him, Heero's just... He's just Heero. Bless him, he tries. I love that about him."

Quatre nodded, because it seemed like the right sort of response, and earned a grin from Duo for it. He finished the rest of his ice cream as well, and Duo jumped up to collect their trash. For one sharp moment he experienced a strong sense of deja vu, all the countless times that one or another of them had gathered up the food trays in the cafeteria, the memory so strong he could practically smell the cafeteria, always stale and plasticky and sterile no matter what was on the menu. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and Quatre had to school his features back under control before Duo returned.

"Hey, what do you think Wufei's up to?" Duo asked, slumping over the greater portion of the bench. "Since we're talking about him."

"Oh. I don't know," Quatre replied.

"Yeah. Who knows, right? Man. I'll tell you something, and don't ever tell him I said it, but I always kind of admired his discipline. You know, always obeying all the rules like the perfect model patient? And it's downright fucking tragic, too, because he's got the most serious, messed up disorder of us all. If you think about it, no matter how well he behaves he's always going to be the craziest, and worse of all he has no idea. If I was him, woah, fuck all the rules. But Wufei's not like that. Poor guy."

And Duo looked so glum about it, that Quatre had to offer some sort of reassurance. "It's okay!" he said, and tried to sound like he believed it. "I bet he's fine."

"So earnest!" Duo said, his smile firmly back in place. "Sorry, I was getting kind of serious on you, wasn't I? My fault. I guess Wufei's on my mind because of what Zechs said."

"Oh," said Quatre. Reminded of their current situation, he pressed a hand against his chest to quell a small but persistent flutter of anxiety. He swallowed and tried to keep his voice level. "What'd he say?"

"Oh, I don't know." Duo shrugged. "I was half asleep when he came in and started yelling. Apparently I'm the worst person to ever live, and something about a fifth rule of some sort he was going break along with my face. I booked it pretty damn fast, but not before Zechs told me, and I'll try to quote, 'Wufei'd be better off if he'd never even met you,'" Duo growled out the words in a remarkably accurate impression. "Which I thought was just needlessly cruel. I mean, what'd I ever do to Wufei besides be his best friend? Nothing, I tell you. Sure, we fought sometimes, but we're besties. That shit happens."

"Oh," said Quatre.

He must have looked confused, or maybe Duo mistook him for sad, because he threw an arm around Quatre's shoulder and gave him a tight squeeze. "You, too, cutie-Q! B to the double-F, totally."

He released him, and Quatre smoothed down his hair with a shy smile. "Okay, Duo," he said softly.

"Come on," said Duo. He bounced to his feet. "Let's go see if Zechs still wants to wring my neck for whatever offense I could have possibly done between six A.M. and noon."

Quatre recognized the streets, but only they passed them. Duo readily took the lead with confidence, leaving Quatre's mind free to wander over their conversation. He could feel the oppressive weight of a red fiberglass W high in the sky above them, and he narrowly avoided the urge to peek up at it, like it might be looking back – the thought made him shiver. "Hey," he said, hurrying his pace to catch even with Duo. "Hey, Duo."

"Yeah?" Duo pressed his thumb repeatedly into the crosswalk button.

"Why do you think Zechs said that?"

"What, that I'm a horrible person? Who knows. I've been trying to think of what I could have done to piss him off but, seriously. He seemed all right this morning, if shockingly awake and dressed for six A.M. Did I tell you he's been going to church? I'm pretty sure he is. I can't imagine why else. Maybe he's mad I didn't come home last night. Er, that sounds weird. I don't want to think of 'here' as home. You know?"

"No?" Quatre frowned at his friend. Duo readily jumped through conversations with such dizzying speed that, especially lately, he got confused trying to follow along. "I meant, about Wufei. Why Zechs said that about Wufei."

"Oh, that he never should have met me or whatever? Yeah. I don't know. Like I said, he was yelling a bunch of crap. I've never seen him that furious, not even when he laid Wufei out – then again, that was over in, like, two seconds. Talk about better off not meeting than or, whatever. I guess it was more like, we'd all be better off without you, and then specifically Wufei. I don't know, maybe he'd start in on you and Trowa and Heero and, hell, Relena and Dorothy while we're at it and, why not? Even further back, to the roommate I had before you at the hospital, or Trowa's silly crush before you came along, or my roommate at reform school, or..." Duo frowned up at the sky. "Or the whole damn world, I guess, better off without me – according to Zechs."

"What?" said Quatre. He'd really stopped paying attention as soon as Duo mentioned Trowa. His heart ran a little faster.

"I'm joking. I'm not gonna, like, throw myself in front of a bus just because Zechs had a bad day."

"No, I mean. Never mind," Quatre mumbled. He felt heat rising into his cheeks again.

"What?" Duo blanked out for a second, mouth moving silently as he ran back over everything he'd just said. "Oh! Shit. I'm really tactful, aren't I? Just forget I said anything. I don't want to get Trowa in trouble. Not! That! He has anything to be in trouble for. Ah, crap, I'm digging myself in deeper, aren't I?"

"No," said Quatre slowly. "Don't worry about it..."

"Well, I better explain, because Trowa's going to have a hard time otherwise. It's not really something you can convey through vague hand gestures. I wonder why no one ever taught him real sign language, or gave him a dry-erase board? Dumb question, I guess. He always made it pretty damn clear he didn't _want_ to say anything. I mean, I bet he _can_ talk; I don't think he busted up his vocal chords, but at this point it's been so long there's no real way of knowing. Yeah? Shit. I'm getting sidetracked. It's so damn hard for me to think straight sometimes; it's like my thoughts are a big plate of spaghetti, and all I got to eat it with is a spoon. What was I saying? Um, um, right! Neil, he was this guy in our group that Trowa liked, kind of how he liked you right away, but Neil was totally not having it. He flipped out on Trowa, so Treize and I made his life hell for a week, and then he got transferred. End of story, really, I swear. You can't blame Trowa for not telling you himself, because there's nothing to tell. And, right, the obvious stupidity of putting 'Trowa' and 'tell' in the same sentence, but you get what I mean."

"Oh."

"Trust me; you'd have to be blind or stupid not to see how much Trowa likes you. I wouldn't worry about it. Neil was just a dumb kid who thought claiming to be crazy was better than going to juvvy, and then changed his mind once the consequences rolled up in the form of actual crazies and padded walls. It was over and done with in, like, less than two weeks, and this was like… back in March, late February maybe? So way, way before you two ever met. Hey. Stop making that face. I'm sorry I said anything, okay? Really. Really it was nothing."

"Okay," said Quatre automatically. He felt the peculiar sensation of treading water, trying desperately to stay afloat, as he untangled Duo's words. They made his stomach twist into painful knots, and Quatre wished frantically that he could run to Trowa and hear him tell him… anything, it didn't matter, even if he confirmed everything Duo had just told him, Quatre wouldn't care. He just wanted to hear that soft velvet tone, speaking to him and him alone – and then Quatre felt a freezing tendril of sudden fear. Trowa liked this other boy, liked him right at once, and that nasty tendril of emotion burst into furious flames of jealousy so keen and piercing that Quatre nearly gasped aloud with it. Had Trowa… _told_ this other boy that he liked him?

Quatre bit the inside of his lip. He wouldn't think about it. He couldn't think about it and not start crying big, stupid hysterics. That wasn't fair to Duo, after all, and, besides, if he really tried to calm down and think about it, what right did he have to get upset about something which may or may not have happened months before he ever met Trowa? Still, a vicious little voice inside him whispered, how well do you really know Trowa?

Well enough, he tried to tell that voice. He tried to be firm about it. _I know Trowa. I trust Trowa. I like Trowa._ He shivered, remembering the soft, sweet things that Trowa sometimes dared to whisper at night, and how utterly warm and peaceful each little silence could be. _See?_ he told that doubt part of himself. _Stop being silly. _

Duo kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation all the way back to their office building apartment, if it could be called such a thing, but quieted down into a whisper when they got near to the door. He hesitated, hand on the knob, and lifted both brows at Quatre as if to say, _Here goes nothing!_ before pushing his way inside.

Utter silence greeted them. Of Zechs, there was no sign. Duo tip-toed into the room with huge, exaggerated motions, and he waved Quatre inside before closing the door behind them.

"I guess he left?" Duo whispered. "Stay here." He crept forward to the opposite side of the room, where the bed sat hidden behind the screen. Quatre could guess the exact moment when Duo caught sight of Zechs, because the boy visibly startled, jumping back like he'd seen a spider, before fleeing silently back over to where Quatre stood by the door. "I think he's asleep."

"Should we leave?" Quatre whispered back.

"Nah. We'll just be quiet."

They settled on to the sofa and, after a quiet debate, decided to watch television with the volume set very low, so as not to disturb Zechs. Duo flipped through the channels until he found the local news, where he hesitated just long enough to get the weather report before going once more through the stations at lightning speed. Quatre couldn't see how he made the split-second decision to reject the various programming options, but maybe that, like his rapid-fire speech, was one more unsettling quirk.

Duo settled at last on a wildlife show about venomous snakes, which Quatre found a little disturbing but not enough to broach changing the channel with Duo. It didn't matter anyway, because Duo whispered to him in a near-constant stream of rambling conversation. He mused about how much it would suck to get bitten by a snake, how he'd gone camping once with a foster family and found a tarantula in his boot, what flavor of pop-tart he liked best (prompted by a commercial break, not the nature programming), and even started to tell Quatre a long, complicated story that was either a dream he had or a movie he watched, Quatre couldn't really keep track.

When Duo paused for breath, Zechs's voice floated out from behind the folding screen. "For the love of Christ, don't you ever shut up?"

Quatre startled guiltily, but Duo seemed unfazed. "I thought you were asleep," he called back.

"No," said Zechs. He emerged from behind the screen, hair and clothes rumpled in such a way that betrayed the lie in his words. Pale blue eyes swept over the two of them with vague disinterest. "What are you doing?" he asked, in a flat, empty tone that snagged Duo's attention.

Duo shifted around to look at Zechs. "Nothing," he said warily.

"Oh." Zechs ran a hand through the disheveled snarl of his hair. His fingers caught on a tangle and jerked free, making Duo wince but the other boy showed no reaction.

"Just watching random crap on TV," Duo clarified, in a much less defensive tone."You wanna sit down?" He scooted toward Quatre, who obligingly started to shift into the corner to make even more room on the couch.

"No," said Zechs. He frowned at them, similar to how Relena looked at jigsaw puzzles, like maybe if he stared long enough things would fit together on their own. After a moment he turned and went back behind the screen. The mattress squeaked in protest as he evidently flopped across it.

Quatre leaned toward Duo and whispered, "He doesn't seem mad at you. Maybe you misunderstood?"

Duo shrugged and clamored up to rest both arms over the back of the sofa, so he faced the screened off bed area. "Hey, Zechs?"

"What?"

"You, uh, all right?"

Silence answered him. Duo, as was his way, persisted. "Hey. So, if I did something to piss you off, you can just tell me. I'll apologize or whatever."

Zechs made a strange sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Okay, Duo," was all he said, however.

"Maybe he's drunk," Duo whispered. He spun around and sank low into the couch cushions, taking up a disproportionate amount of space with his sprawl. "Man. Drunk before sunset on a Sunday; that's almost impressive."

"Not drunk," Zechs called. "Also, I can still hear you."

Duo slapped a hand over a burst of giggles. Quatre frowned and picked at seam of the cushion. Despite Duo's apparent dismissal of the matter, he remained concerned. Not for the first time he thought of the cuffed bracelets Zechs always wore and the long scars on Trowa's arms, and the comparison made him shiver. A butterfly of worry fluttered up out if his heart and wedged itself firmly at his throat.

When he spoke, the words came out trembling from the effort of bypassing that tangled knot. "Um? Zechs? D-did you want us to leave?"

Duo waved his hands at him in a frantic, _what the hell are you doing?_ gesture. Quatre shook his head, thinking to reassure him that he knew what he was doing when, in fact, he hadn't the faintest idea.

A long silence. Then, slowly, in that same hollow tone, "I don't care. Do what you want."

It slapped some of the amusement from Duo's face. He and Quatre exchanged anxious looks. Duo pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh," he breathed softly. He gestured for Quatre's backpack and, once presented with it, pulled free a notebook and pen from the fake school supplies.

_I don't want him to hear_, Duo wrote. He tipped the notebook close so Quatre could easily see it.

Quatre nodded his understanding.

Duo wrote again, quickly, a single question mark. He tilted his head toward where Zechs lay hidden from view.

Quatre took the notebook from him. _Do you think we should say anything?_

_Yeah. What?_

_? I don't know?_

_I figured he was just pissed at me._ Duo punctuated his writing with a helpless shrug.

_Anything happen yesterday? _

Duo tapped the pen against his lips in thought. _He went out dressed up. Like to the bars I guess._

_Today?_

_Church? The fight w/me this morning_

_Maybe he's tired?_

Duo leveled an incredulous look at him. To Quatre's utter horror, Duo mimed slashing his wrists and then gestured offhandedly toward Zechs as he lolled out his tongue in a grotesque death impression. Quatre thought instantly of Trowa, of those twin red scars, and felt his chest tighten dangerously. The last thing he needed was a panic attack, however, so he dug Sandy out of his backpack and knotted his trembling hands into the bear's fur.

Duo twitched a frown at him. He leaned over and cautiously set a hand on Quatre's knee. "Hey," he whispered. "What is it? What… Oh. Trowa? Shit. I totally wasn't thinking. Sorry."

Quatre shook his head.

"Yes, yes. I get to be a mind reader if I want." A dawning look of dread crossed Duo's face. "Trowa hasn't…?"

Quatre shook his head again, frantically, the pale strands of his hair flying with the spastic motion.

"I mean," Duo started to say. The words fell flat between them. "Never mind. Just, sorry. Don't worry about it. About him. Okay?"

"Okay," Quatre echoed. His heart thudded painfully within the confines of his chest.

Duo's brows swooped together with an intense look of sudden displeasure. He rose to his feet and then stalked around toward the bed. "Hey!" he called. Quatre straightened up in alarm, suddenly alarmed that his panicked reaction was the trigger for Duo's outburst.

"Hey!" said Duo again. "Cut it out. Whatever you're sulking about, stop it. I know you've got this whole badass punk attitude going on, but I'm getting sick of you ignoring us."

Quatre leaned over the back of the couch, just as eager to eavesdrop as he was embarrassed to get involved.

"Okay," said Zechs.

"Hmph!" huffed Duo. "Thanks for that perfect illustration of what I'm talking about. Come on, get up! Stop sulking. Yell at me if you want, if you're still mad about my existence or whatever it was I did to piss you off. Like, that's cool, I'd rather we just get it out in the open."

"Go away," Zechs grumbled. He sounded more exhausted than angry, like the weight of Duo's concerned pressed him heavily to the bed and made it hard to respond.

"I will not! I'm stuck with you, so I might as well make the best of the situation. Ah, fuck. Listen to me, really great pep talk I'm giving you. I guess I like you well enough. It's like I told Heero, we might as well be friends at this point, and you are stuck with me for the time being. You ever going to tell me what the hell I ever did to make everyone's lives miserable? No one likes being told their mere continued survival is a bad thing, you know."

Duo took several quick steps backward. Quatre flinched behind the protective shield of the sofa back as Zechs came out from behind the screen, his face like a thundercloud as he glared down at Duo.

"Yeah," he said at last, into the brittle silence. "Yeah. I know." His face cleared of its anger as he moved his gaze from Duo to Quatre, who tucked himself even lower. "Okay," Zechs said. "I'm done sulking. Let's have some fun."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Ah! Sorry, this took me a little while. Been rather busy lately. Thank you for your kind responses, those joining the story for the first time as well as those who have been reading for a while! I hope you're enjoying the story! I'll work hard on the next chapter.

Incidentally, May (my pseudo-beta) and I have been talking about "image songs" for the characters. I have one for each couple, if you're curious! Trowa/Quatre is Before I Knew by Basia Bulat. Heero/Duo is Little Bird by the Weepies. Zechs & Wufei/Treize/Meiran is Between the Bars by Elliott Smith.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	66. In the Cards

LSC / 01-26-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Six: In the Cards)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 66

**In the Cards**

* * *

"What kind of fun?" Duo asked warily. He edged between Zechs and the sofa.

"You got that deck of cards?" Zechs said, rather than answer directly. He crossed the room to the mini-fridge and knelt down in front of it.

"Uh, yeah." Duo swiveled his head around, looking for the messy pile of hodge-podge stuff he'd taken from the hospital and accumulated since. Quatre hurriedly tucked away the notebook with his and Duo's silent conversation and then sat there, worrying Sandy's ear with his teeth.

"Don't we have anything to eat besides sandwiches? Whatever," Zechs said. "Either of you want one?"

"We just ate," Duo said. "I found the cards. What'd you have in mind, with the three of us? I guess good ol' Sandrock could be a fourth for, like, spades or something. If we wanted to indulge in a little whimsical craziness. Your bear any good at cards, Quat?"

"Um?" said Quatre. He pressed Sandy close to his heart.

"I figured." Duo bounced over to join Zechs at the kitchenette. "You feeling better, I take it? Get your little hissy fit worked out of your system? Done cursing my existence?"

Zechs stared at him as one would a cockroach. "Sure," he said. "Thanks for your concern."

"Ohh, I see your sarcasm chip is still functioning. I was looking for an apology, but I'll take passive-aggressive gratitude if that's what you're offering."

"You never know when to quit, do you?" Zechs sounded more amused than angry. "Okay. Sure. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"Oh," said Duo. He narrowed his eyes at Zechs, as if searching the words for insincerity or more sarcasm, but after a moment he relaxed down into a wide grin. "Fine. Apology accepted." He busted the deck out of the box and began to shuffle. "What'd you have in mind?"

Zechs nudged the fridge open with a knee and knelt to pull out a five-pack of beer by the empty plastic hoop where the sixth must have once been. "A drinking game. Get into a circle on the floor. You, too, Quatre."

"Really?" Duo's face lit up with excitement. "You're sharing your precious liquid gold for once? Here, Quatre, sit next to me. Although I guess since there's three of us, and it's a circle…" Duo flopped cross-legged to the floor and patted the empty space of carpet next to him.

Quatre cautiously joined him. "I'm not sure I want to play."

"It'll be fun," Zechs said. He popped three beers off the pack and set one in front of each of them. Duo handed over the deck of cards, and Zechs idly shuffled them while he waited for everyone to get settled. "I'll explain the rules now all at once, but don't worry if you lose track. I'll remind you."

Quatre tucked his ankles up underneath him, so Sandy was wedged firmly between his knees and his chest. "I don't know…" he said again.

"Yeah," Duo said suddenly. "Maybe Quatre shouldn't drink. When'd you take the last of your medicine? Is that going to fuck with you?"

"Friday."

"You'll be fine," Zechs said, with such confidence that it gave Quatre pause. "Live a little. Just take small sips and stop if you feel sick."

Quatre looked between the two of them and then down at the floor. He didn't want to be the only one sitting out, especially since the suggestion of a game had put both his friends into high spirits. "Okay," he said quietly. He set his fingers lightly on the cold, metal rim of the can. "I'll play."

"Huzzah!" cheered Duo. "This rocks. How do we play?"

Zechs began to deal the cards face-down to the floor in an overlapping pile. "Everyone takes a turn drawing a card. Every card has a different rule for what we do. It's pretty simple, once you know all the rules."

"We don't know the rules," Duo pointed out. "Are you going to cheat?"

"There's no way to cheat at this. You can't win or lose."

"I like it already."

Zechs rolled his eyes. "Aces are waterfall normally, but that's a bit weird with just three of us… and fours won't work, none of us are girls. Okay," he said, emptying the rest of the cards to the floor. "Aces. Hot Seat. Everyone asks you a question, if you refuse to answer you take a drink. Twos. You. You drink. Threes, Me, we drink. Fours, Floor, last person to touch the floor drinks. Five… go get us more beer. Six, dicks, we all drink since we're all guys. Sevens, it's a counting game, I'll explain when we get there. Eight, Date, pick someone to match your drinks. Nine… I hate all the nine rules I know, fuck it, everyone drinks. Ten, Categories. Jack, Never Have I Ever. Queen, Questions. King, everyone drinks. Joker, chug the rest of your drink. Got it?"

"No," said Duo with a laugh. "It sounds like we just drink whenever a card is drawn."

"Yeah. I guess that is the gist of it. I'll explain as we go." Zechs took a large bite of his sandwich. "Okay. I'll go first." He drew a card and tossed it face-up between them. "Two. So, I drink." He did so, throat working through a long, rapid gulp. "Clockwise. Quatre, you're next."

"Okay." He carefully pulled a card out from underneath the pile.

"King. Everyone drinks," Zechs said.

Quatre worked the tab into the mouth of the can and earned a sharp, snapping hiss for the effort. He tipped back a tiny amount, just barely enough to get a taste for it. Watery and cheap, the beer tasted like stale soda, with a cold bitterness that lingered on Quatre's tongue long after he swallowed. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but he also didn't see the appeal.

"My turn!" Duo slapped a hand over the cards. "Ten! Categories! What do we do?"

"Pick a category, and we go around in a circle naming things. First person to bitch out drinks."

"Okay. I pick… Mental disorders!"

Zechs snorted out a laugh. "Okay. Depression."

"Um," said Quatre. "Bipolar."

"Hey! You stole mine. No fair. Uh, antisocial personality."

"Multiple personalities."

"Panic disorder," said Quatre softly.

"Obsessive Compulsive."

Zechs held up a hand over his mouth. "Agoraphobia," he said, around a mouthful of sandwich.

"Um," said Quatre. "Schizoid."

"Trichotillomania," said Duo.

"What the hell is that? Are you making up words?" Zechs asked.

"No. It's when you pluck all the hair off your body. Dorothy's old roommate had it. Drove her fucking crazy with it."

"Okay," said Zechs. "Schizophrenia."

"I can't think of anymore," said Quatre. He took another small drink.

Zechs flipped over a card. "Six, dicks. Everyone drinks."

"Four," said Quatre. He held his card up.

Zech slapped a hand to the floor. Duo immediately copied him. "You drink, Quatre," said Zechs. "Last one to touch the floor."

"Oh. Okay."

"My turn! Queen! I keep getting the fun ones," Duo said.

"You can only talk in questions, and everyone has to ask you questions back, otherwise it's a drink."

A wicked grin spread across Duo's face. "How long do I have to keep asking questions?"

"Until another queen gets drawn," Zechs said.

Quatre bit his lip around a smile. "That wasn't a question, Zechs. You have to drink."

Zechs let out a bark of laughter. "Fair enough! Okay, my turn. Three. You both drink."

Quatre drew nine, which meant they all drank, and then it rolled over to Duo. "Is it my turn?" he asked, still grinning. "Does this look like a seven to you, Quatre?"

"Um. Are you holding the card so I can see it?"

Duo gave him a thumbs up and switched his attention. "What do we do for a seven, Zechs?"

"It's the counting game. Oh, fuck me," Zechs took a drink. "Don't you think this is unfair?"

Quatre giggled. "Duo, stop it. Let him explain."

"We go in a circle counting, and if your number is a seven or a multiple of seven you have to say 'fuck me' instead, and the count reverses directions. Loser drinks. Duo, you start."

"One?"

"Two," said Zechs.

"Three," said Quatre. They went around the circle, Duo obligingly asking, "Fuck me?" when the seven popped up on his turn.

"Thirteen?" asked Duo.

All eyes shifted to Quatre. "Um. F- um. F-fuck me," he whispered.

Duo burst into a peal of laughter. "Ahh!" he cried. "Did you hear that? Did you hear cutie-Q drop the F-bomb? I'm out! Uh, wait, shit, Jeopardy time, form of a question… Is it okay if I just lose instead?" He took a swift sip. "Whose turn is it?"

"Wasn't it mine? Jesus, I hope I get a queen," Zechs muttered. "Joker. Great, chuga-a-glug." He tipped back his can and drained down the remainder with an easy, practiced grace. He set the empty can aside and opened a new one.

Quatre drew another ten and picked ice cream flavors for his category. Vanilla was his favorite, since everywhere always had it, which meant he never had to worry over the decision, but Duo had requested several samples before settling on his chocolate overload. Quatre simply kept naming off the different flavors until, finally, Zechs lost. Duo drew another queen and laughed at the look of dismay that crossed Zechs's face.

"Ace, hot seat," Zechs said. He tossed the card down. "You two each ask me a question. I have to answer or drink."

"Uh," said Duo. "Do you want to go first, Quatre?"

"No," said Quatre. Duo grinned at him, so Quatre took a drink. "Uh. Umm…" he drawled out the sound. Zechs looked at him expectantly. He grabbed for the first question that came to mind. "Which is your favorite ice cream flavor?"

"Strawberry," said Zechs. Was it Quatre's imagination, or did he look relieved at the banality of the question? Before he could put much thought into it, Zechs shifted the same patient look of expectance to Duo.

"Since I'm already the Question Queen (aw, lame, that sounded cooler in my head), does this count as double drinks if you don't answer?" Duo tapped his lower lip with the tip of his braid. "Is Treize a good kisser?"

Slowly, like water churning down a drain, the color ran from Zechs's face. He silently picked up his beer and took a long drink.

"My turn," Quatre said quickly. He flipped over the other joker.

"Chug-a-lug," offered Zechs.

Quatre hesitantly picked up his still nearly-full can. He'd only been taking tiny sips. Maybe he should have been working on gulps, like Zechs, or normal drinks, like Duo.

"Tell you what," said Zechs. "Hold on to that card. We'll get back to it eventually."

"Okay," said Quatre. He flashed a quick, relieved smile at the older boy. Zechs shrugged and looked away, as if uncomfortable getting caught in a show of kindness. Duo drew a two and took a drink. As soon as Quatre saw the four in Zechs's hand he slapped a hand to the floor, which earned a laugh from Duo, the loser.

They did the counting game again, which lasted until Duo forgot that forty-two was a multiple of seven, and a few rounds passed in which Quatre tried to take bigger and bigger drinks so as to make chugging his beer feasible. He was starting to like the taste, once he got used to it being neither immensely pleasant nor unpleasant, and the game was a lot of fun; or, at least, Duo and Zechs were enjoying themselves, which made him happy as well.

"Jack," Zechs announced. "Never Have I Ever. Go around in a circle and say something you've never done. Anyone who's done it takes a drink and puts down a finger. First one to five takes an extra drink. I'll start." He splayed his hand against the carpet and stared down at it. Quatre and Duo mimicked his stance. "Shit," he said, after a long stretch of silence. "I forgot I hate this one."

"Can you not think of anything you haven't done?" Duo asked.

"No, I – Ah," Zechs caught himself against responding without a question. "Don't you realize the point is to think of something I haven't done that you have?" Zechs said instead. "Okay. I've never flown on a plane." He looked sharply between the two of them.

Duo remained passive. Quatre, however, slowly took a drink and folded down one finger on his left hand. "Aha! … ?" said Duo. He gamely tried at the last second to tip it up into a question.

Zechs looked satisfied. "Your turn, Quatre."

"Oh. Okay. Um," he thought carefully. "I've never k-kissed a girl."

Duo and Zechs both took drinks. "Are you serious, Quatre? Man. Okay. Did you know that I've never kissed Trowa?"

"That's cheating," Quatre protested as he folded down another finger.

Zechs laughed. "It kind of is, but, two can play at that game. I've never kissed Heero Yuy."

"Ha," said Duo. He took a drink. "Should we agree to stop cheating?"

Zechs took a pre-emptive drink and said, "Yeah. Quatre, your turn."

"Oh. Um. I've never been drunk."

"Give it time," Zechs said. "You still have that joker to redeem." He obediently took a drink.

"Did you know I've never… fooled around in the back of a car?"

Quatre flushed and was the only one to take a drink. "How the hell is Quatre losing?" Duo said with a laugh.

Zechs looked thoughtful for a moment. "I've never had a job." He looked between the two of them. "Oh, you slackers."

"My turn," said Quatre. "I've never driven a car."

Zechs drank. Duo eyed him and Quatre carefully. "Did you know I've never met my parents? Boom! Score two for the orphan," he said. "How the hell am I winning this?"

Zechs stared at Quatre. They each only had one finger left. Absurdly, Quatre felt nervous, as if the outcome hinged on something greater than just a single extra drink. He tried to look wide-eyed and innocent under the weight of Zechs's gaze, and thought wildly of Duo's mind-reading jokes earlier.

"I've never been overseas," Zechs said, with a note of triumph.

"Well, duh," said Duo. "If you've never flown before! That is cheating."

"You're supposed to speak in questions still," Zechs countered. "And I could have taken a boat."

"It's okay," Quatre said. "I lose." He took the extra swallow. "It's my turn?" He flipped the king on to the rest of the discard pile and joined the others in the resulting round of drinks. Duo turned over an eight and chose Zechs to match him drink-for-drink until the next eight was drawn.

Zechs flipped over a five. "Quatre, redeem that joker, and I'll get us both another beer. I'm about out. Duo?"

Duo swirled his can. "Are we going to be playing much longer?"

"Do you want another beer? Okay. I'll take that as a yes," Zechs said quickly. He gave Duo the remaining one off the original pack of five and started to get to his feet with the empties. "Quatre?"

"Oh. Okay," he said. He hastily lifted his still half-full can. At first he thought it was easy, and didn't understand what the fuss could be about, but the last few swallows crowded around the bubbles and the sudden sensation of drowning. He gasped out a laugh when he finished and handed the empty can up to Zechs. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "Ugh!" he said, with another laugh. "I've never chugged a beer before. I should have said that while I still had the chance."

"Having fun?" Zechs asked, with a sly grin. He pulled fresh beer out of the fridge and returned.

They played through the rest of the cards, until Quatre ended up having to speak in questions, and Duo lost a round of Never Have I Ever (Quatre and Zechs made a secret pact to gang up on him when Duo left to use the bathroom midway through). Quatre ended up drawing aces twice in a row, but they tossed him soft questions like, _what's your favorite animal?_ and _does Trowa wear boxers or brief?_ - Zechs asking the former, and Duo the latter, but they were still easy questions.

After they'd run through the entire deck, Quatre knew he was probably at least tipsy. Probably. At least. He bit down a smile around Sandy's ear.

Zechs gathered up all the cards and began to shuffle them. "Let's play again," he said. "It'll go faster since you guys know the rules now."

"Sure!" Duo got up to make a sandwich, smooth and graceful on his feet despite the three empty cans he left behind. Quatre eyed him, eyed his own trophy collection, and decided he wanted to keep sitting instead.

Zechs set the cards down and gathered up all the cans. He chucked them into the trash and kicked open the fridge. "Okay, kiddies. You two stay here. I'll run to the store and get more beer. Any requests?"

"Is there one that tastes like chocolate milk, or something awesome like that?"

Zechs rolled his eyes. "I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

"Cupcakes!" Duo said. He twisted the bread closed. "Bring back cupcakes."

"What, are you drunk or high? Weirdo. Okay, cupcakes and tasty beer, rather than cheap swill. Got it. Be right back," Zechs said.

Duo stretched out on his back next to Quatre. "This is fun," he said. "You should try it. Shit's spinning a little."

"No," said Quatre. "I'm good."

"You're missing out. Hey. I guess you're staying here tonight, right?"

"Um, yes."

"Bummer," said Duo. He shoved a rather inelegant amount of sandwich into his mouth. His jaw worked through a swallow. "I guess I will, too. Heero will just have to deal with it. Zechs seems in a good mood, but, still. You didn't see him earlier. And, besides, who knows what'll happen if you two sit here drinking all night without a chaperone."

Quatre frowned. "Duo, I—"

"Hey!" Duo bolted upright. "I just had an awesome idea! Let's go up to the roof and drink. When Zechs gets back, I mean. I bet the stars look amazing up there, and we can look down at the city, and—" he broke off abruptly. "Quatre? Kiddo? What, you gonna hurl? You drink too much already?"

"No," said Quatre. "No, it's not that…"

"Ohh," said Duo slowly. He knocked a fist against the side of his head. "Right! Heights. Sorry, I totally forgot. Ix-nay on the roof idea, gotcha. Man. How the hell did you ever handle flying, if you're freaked out about heights? Or is that something completely different? You know, man on the wing type wig-out versus, 'holy crap, we're up high in the goddamn sky.' Ah, sorry, sorry, you probably don't want to talk about it."

"No. It's not… We can go to the roof, if you like."

"Uh-huh." said Duo. "You can't just let people push you around, cutie-Q. It doesn't matter what I like or what I want to do, if it's going to scare the crap out of you, just say so. I mean, I saw you lose your shit on an eight-foot tall fence. What's a bajillion story skyscraper going to be like? Don't be so eager to make everyone else happy." He reached out and tousled a hand through Quatre's hair. "We'll play the silly game and have a good time right here, okay?"

"Okay, Duo," he said softly. He smiled and set his head against his knees.

Zechs returned carrying several plastic bags, one of which he immediately passed off to Duo. "Sweet! Cupcakes!" Duo cried, pulled out a set of cheap, shrink-wrapped snack cakes. He tore into them immediately. "Oh, there's one in here for you, Quat."

"Really? Thanks."

"Well, you're paying for it," Zechs replied with a laugh. He set two six-packs of the cheap beer on the counter.

"What's this?" Duo asked. He held up a sixer of glass bottles.

"For you, princess. Doesn't taste like chocolate milk, but it's better than my preferred brand of white trash feud fuel."

Duo twisted off the bottle cap and took a cautious sip. "Tastes like lemonade and candy."

"Yeah. It's called bitch beer. Drink up," Zechs said with another laugh. "Quatre, what's your poison?"

"Oh. It's fine. I don't care either way."

"I like your style, Quatre. Have a cheap shitty beer." Zechs rejoined him on the floor and set one of the six packs between the two of them. Duo folded neatly to the floor and made quick work of the cupcakes while Zechs dealt out the cards for round two.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

As an offering for the slight delay between the two previous chapters, a double-update day! One of those "split my material into parts" chapters, too, so expect the next one very soon.

Until next time.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	67. Enough is Too Little

LSC / 01-28-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Seven: Enough is Too Little)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 67

**Enough is Too Little**

* * *

The game did go faster the second time, as he and Duo knew the rules enough not to need Zechs's prompting on every card. On the four, which Duo drew, Quatre slapped his hand to the floor so fast he knocked over Duo's bottle and sent them all scrambling to clean up the resulting mess. They moved the game three feet to the side, to stay dry, and resumed.

Quatre lost the seven counting game, both Never Have I Evers, kept forgetting to respond to Zechs with questions, got picked as Duo's date for eights, and failed categories when he couldn't name a single brand of car besides "truck," which Zechs refused to take as a proper answer. They played the aces with an alternate set of rules, instead of asking questions, which Quatre suspected Zechs wanted to avoid, after Duo's tactless inquiry about Treize.

"Waterfall," explained Zechs. "We all start chugging. When Duo stops, Quatre can stop, and I can't stop until Quatre does." Zechs made them all get fresh drinks, even though Quatre still had half a can left, and counted them down from three.

Duo stopped somewhere at the halfway mark, laughing around a belch, and then cheered Quatre, who was determinedly trying to prove something. He wasn't exactly sure what, since no one had really challenged him to anything, but it seemed like the smart thing to be doing.

"Go Quat!" Duo said. "Er," he said and drank, rather than try to rephrase it as a question, since he'd drawn the last queen already.

Quatre glanced at Zechs, who was resolutely matching him gulp for gulp. His throat burned in protest, that strange little drowning sensation was back, but he felt the can growing lighter and lighter in his hand. Maybe he could do the whole thing, and wouldn't that just be amazing? Quatre had to stop just shy of his goal, it was stop or choke, and he gasped and sputtered with tears in his eyes for the effort.

Zechs quit at the same time. "Bah!" he said. "I'm going to get done in by a pipsqueak!"

Quatre laughed, and startled himself with how loud it sounded. He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry!" he said, in a not-very-quiet whisper.

Zechs and Duo both laughed. Quatre grinned at them. It felt like floating! He was at least probably definitely tipsy. He had to be. He forgot what to do on the next four, so finished off the last couple swallows of the waterfall beer, and got all the way to seventy-seven on the counting game, no longer embarrassed to say "fuck me!" when they hit a multiple of seven – except he somehow forgot that a number with two sevens in it had to be a seven. Maybe it was because he forgot they were playing a game, and thought they were just counting.

Zechs drew an eight. Quatre drank, and then belatedly remembered that was only sixes and nines and kings and oh, all the cards, he'd just drink for all of them and hope it worked out.

"Eight, eight. I'll be your date!" Quatre volunteered. He reached to pop another can free of the set between him and Zechs. Two blondes, they were, one big and one little, and the thought made him grin. A lot of thoughts were making him smile. Being probably definitely a little past tipsy felt great; maybe this was what Duo always felt like, when he talked a mile a minute and wore the Cheshire grin. Quatre swiveled a big-eyed gaze to Duo as the thought struck him. He felt very wise.

"No, that's okay," said Zechs. He was looking at him carefully, like maybe Quatre had something on his face. Quatre rubbed at his cheek and found it okay. Zechs shrugged. "I think I'm done playing anyway."

"Whaaaaat!" protested Quatre. Duo chimed in his agreement. "We were having fun!"

"Yeah," said Zechs. He started to gather up the cards. "It was fun."

"Hey!" said Quatre. He had a great idea. "Duo wanted to go look at the stars. Can we go up to the roof?"

"Yeah!" said Duo. "Wait. I thought we agreed we weren't going to do that?"

"No, it was really good idea," Quatre insisted.

"Yeah, right," said Zechs. He chuckled. "I'm going to haul your drunken asses up to the roof. That's a brilliant idea. If you want to look at the stars, let's go out to the alley. I want a smoke anyway." He rose to his feet, only a bit unsteadily despite having drank more than either of them.

Duo bounced to feet as well. They both made it look easy, so Quatre was doubly shocked when his attempt ended in a stagger. Zechs grabbed one arm of his arms and Duo the other, so between the two of them he managed to stay upright. The room definitely tipped sideways, like a sinking ship, and Quatre dug his fingers into the meaty part of Zechs's arm with a gasp.

"All right?" asked Zechs softly. Duo was already moving toward the door, humming Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer under his breath.

"Y-yeah," said Quatre, recovering from his surprise.

"For a little guy, you can put it away." Zechs sounded impressed. It made Quatre's heart swell with some weird little prideful joy, and he grinned up at the taller boy. Zechs chuckled, the sound deep and close. Quatre felt his cheeks heat, and he pulled away to stand on his own.

"Come on!" Duo said from the door.

"You have to be quiet," Zechs warned. "No shouting. The last thing we want is some cop asking us a bunch of questions. Technically you're underage drinkers, and I'm the big, bad adult who enabled you."

"Ohh, enabled. That sounds dirty," Duo teased. He flew down the stairs and back up them, a tightly wound ball of energy that made Quatre dizzy to watch.

Quatre wasn't aware he was stumbling until Zechs caught his arm. The older boy looped an elbow through his on the stairs, so Quatre couldn't go crashing to the bottom. "I got you," he said, and it reminded Quatre vividly of that stupid fence they'd had to climb getting free of the hospital.

His stomach clenched at the memory, but he shook it free with a sudden burst of nervous laughter. "Okay," he told Zechs. "Got me from going where?"

"Just… going," said Zechs, with a strange look on his face. "Duo, hold up a second."

Duo ignored him and thundered the rest of the way down the stairs. Quatre heard him hit up against the fire bar and leave out into the alley. Zechs sighed.

"You know what," Quatre said. "Hey, Zechs. You know what?"

"What?"

"I think you're nice." Quatre said this very solemnly or at least he tried, but the silly little grin on his face probably ruined the moment. He was probably maybe drunk, but definitely possibly for sure somewhere over the line of tipsy. He wasn't sure, since he'd been neither before, where the line was located. He hoped he didn't trip over it. He seemed to be tripping over his own feet somehow, which was silly, they were right there at the end of his legs.

"Sure," said Zechs. "Watch your step, okay?" He kept his arm around Quatre as they went outside.

Duo stood in the middle of the alley, head tipped back to stare up at the sky. "Stupid city," he announced when they joined him. "You can barely see the stars. I went to this school, it was way out in the middle of fuck nowhere, and from the roof at night you could just see them huge and close and bright and awesome."

Zechs carefully leaned Quatre up against the wall and, when it seemed he wouldn't tip to either side, tapped out a cigarette from the crushed-up pack in his pocket. "Yeah?" he said to Duo. He struck a flame until the paper caught. "Sounds awesome."

"Bzzt," said Duo. "Sarcasm alert!"

"Yeah," said Zechs. He looked sideways at Quatre.

"Hey, let me try a cigarette."

"One bad habit at a time," Zechs told Duo.

"Oh, yeah. You're going to kill yourself eventually with those."

"What?" said Quatre. He shook free of the wall. "What about killing yourself?"

"Oh, shit," said Duo. "Nothing, Quatre. I was joking."

"You shouldn't joke about it!"

Zechs threw down his cigarette and caught Quatre around the waist. "Duo didn't mean it like that."

"Zechs, please don't kill yourself! Tell Trowa, too!"

"Jesus Christ," muttered Zechs. "What the hell is this?"

"Quatre," said Duo patiently. He grabbed his arm, so that Quatre was surrounded. He twisted for a moment, throw off kilter by the sudden closeness, and they both backed off without actually letting him go. "Quatre, it was a really stupid joke. Trowa's fine, okay? He's fine."

"But," said Quatre. He felt horribly anxious all of a sudden. Where was Sandy? He turned within friends' hold, looking for where his bear might have gone.

"What's this about Trowa?"

"I'll tell you later," Duo told Zechs. "I should have known better than to say something like that in front of Quatre anyway."

"Quatre," said Zechs. "Quatre, what are you doing?"

"I don't know," he said. He'd been looking for something, but he'd forgotten what. It seemed important then, but maybe not now. "Where's Trowa?"

"He's at his house," Duo said. For some reason Duo was holding his arm. That was okay, Quatre didn't want to fall off the ship anyway. "Hey, I have a hilarious idea. Let's call Heero. He's probably wondering why I didn't come over anyway."

"Sure," said Zechs. "Drunk dialing. You're just full of good ideas."

"I'm pretty certain that's sarcasm." Duo leveled a suspicious look at him. "But I might be too drunk to tell for sure. Bzzt," he said, pressed his finger up against Zechs's nose.

"Whatever," said Zechs. They started walking. Quatre had to go with them, because his arm was being held hostage by Zechs. He'd eaten waffles once as a hostage. That had been okay, actually. He started imagining Heero and waffles and it got very silly, so he giggled. Zechs kept him from tumbling off the curb. That was nice of him.

"You are nice," Quatre said again. Had he said it once? The words didn't quite sound as right outside his body as they had inside.

"Make it fast," said Zechs. "I think Quatre needs to go lay down."

Duo popped a few coins into the pay phone. "Sure," he said to Zechs. He frowned at Quatre, who smiled back at him, which made Duo shrug. Duo twisted the phone cord around his finger as he waited. "Hello? Hello? Hiya, Heero! … What? Don't be silly, of course you're not sleeping. You answered the phone, therefore you _were_ sleeping. What time is it? Oh. That's not very late. Yeah, I know you have to get up early. Didn't you drag my ass out of bed at, like, five this morning? What? Of course I'm not tired. No, I'm not coming over. I'm fine. What do you mean I sound weird? You're weird. No, I am not sleeping in an alley. I told you, didn't I? I got someplace safe to crash. Yes, I ate dinner. Heero, you're totally embarrassing me, stop mother-henning. Zechs and Quatre are, like, right the fuck next to me. They can totally hear."

"Hi, Heero!" called Quatre. Zechs shushed him, which seemed very unfair, since Quatre hadn't thought he'd been all that loud. Quatre hushed him right back, the sound dropping off into a sudden giggle.

Duo tucked the phone into his shoulder and waved enthusiastically at Quatre. "Heero? Quatre says hi. You remember Quatre, I'm sure. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No. Maybe. I don't know," Duo said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, Heero. Okay. Oooooookay, I heard you the first time. We'll talk about it later. Later! I don't know when. When do you work? Okay, fine." Duo suddenly blushed and turned away from them, tucking himself even further against the phone. "Yeah. You, too. Thanks. Night," he said. He tapped the hook quickly, before setting the receiver back, and let out a victorious cheer when the change rolled back into the return.

"Heero says hi," Duo said, once he'd turned to face them.

"Hi, Heero," said Quatre again, quiet enough that neither Duo nor Zech seemed to hear him.

"You done making prank phone calls?" Zechs asked.

"Nope," said Duo. "I still got thirty-five cents. Anyone you want to call?"

"Trowa!" said Quatre. "I want to call Trowa."

Zechs set both hands on his shoulders and gently turned him in place. Quatre obediently rotated, just like a jewelry-box ballerina, to face up at the taller boy. "Maybe you shouldn't," said Zechs.

"Why not?"

Duo popped up in his defense. "Yeah, why not? It's not that late."

"Yeah!"

"Oh. Jesus. You two. Fine," said Zechs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Come on, Quatre," Duo took his arm. That was nice of him. Everyone wanted to touch him all of a sudden. Quatre wasn't entirely sure he liked that, because he didn't really like to be touched most of the time, but since it was Duo he was okay with it. Duo wedged in beside him inside the phone booth, where it was very crowded, and fed the change through the machine.

Quatre squinted at the keypad. He set a finger against the seven and said, "Fuck me," under his breath. There were two sevens, right next to each other, and that seemed very strange to him. Duo managed to press only one of them. He was very clever that way.

"It's ringing," said Duo. He tipped the phone toward Quatre and backed out of the booth.

Quatre leaned up against the glass. Ring, ring, maybe no one wa—"Hello?"

"Catherine!" he mouthed to Duo. Somehow the reality that she would answer had escaped him.

"Hello?" she said again.

"Um!" said Quatre. "H-hello. May I speak to Trowa, please? This is Quatre."

Duo flashed him a _you're doing great!_ thumbs up. Behind him, Zechs rolled his eye and blew out a plume of smoke from a cigarette drag.

"Quatre?" said Catherine, clearly puzzled. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"Well. Okay, just a moment. Let me get him. (Trowa? It's for you.)"

Silence.

"Hello? Trowa? Hi! Are you there? Hello, hello, hello," Quatre became fascinated with the strange, hollow sound his own voice made as it reverberated through the quiet enclosure of the booth. "Oh, Catherine's there. You can't. I don't know why I thought. Or what I was. Thinking. Gosh, this is hard. Everything's so spinny, spinny, spinny. I'm pretty sure I've okay though. I'm not going to fall overboard. Zechs said I should lay down so maybe I will do that before I throw up." Quatre said exactly what he was thinking, for once. Another thought occurred to him, so he added it to the rest. "This must be how Duo feels. Minus the spinny, I guess. Well. Okay. Duo and Zechs say hello. Duo is waving. We're here having fun. I hope you're having fun, too."

"Quatre?" came the barest of whispers, ever so faint.

"Yes? Okay," Quatre added quickly. He glanced over his shoulder to where Duo stood nearby. He couldn't let them know about Trowa. He promised Trowa a very long time ago that he wouldn't. He needed everything to stop twirling so he could think. He needed Sandy. Where was Sandy?

"Where are you?"

"Okay, Trowa. I have to go. I'm going to go now. Okay. Bye." Quatre set the phone back into the cradle as fast as he could. Coins rattled against the metal slot.

"Hey, Zechs," Duo said. "The change came back around again. You should prank call someone, too."

"Nah. It's too late for that, even if I … Well. It's too late."

"Huh?"

"Forget about it. Did you two get all your bad ideas out of your system? Let's go." Zechs claimed Quatre's arm again as a hostage.

"I think I made Trowa mad," Quatre announced, once they were back inside. The stairs refused to hold still long enough for him to get a foot on them, and he fixed them with a heated glare. Heero-glare quality! Stupid stairs!

"What? No way," said Duo. "Trowa adores you."

Zechs had a grip on his arm, almost more like hauling Quatre up the stairs than guiding him. His foot slipped from a step, and he would have fallen face-first if not for the taller boy's quick reflexes. "Careful," said Zechs. "Hey, Duo. Give me a hand here. Quatre's in a bad way."

"No I'm not," Quatre tried to insist. "I'm not bad."

"Nah, you're golden, cutie-Q. Just super drunk," Duo assured him. He caught Quatre's other arm and, between the two of them, Duo and Zechs got him moving steadily up the stairs.

"Now I can't say I've never for the game," Quatre told them. It seemed wise and important when he thought of it but seemed very silly when he said it.

"How the hell are you still so full of pep and vigor?" Zechs asked.

"I don't know," said Duo. "Maybe I have a natural defense mechanism against alcohol. I don't feel all that different. Kind of buzzed, I guess. I don't think I drank as much as Quatre. Also I don't think he ate anything between lunch and beer o'clock."

"That'd do it," said Zechs.

"I can hear you," Quatre said. "I'm right here."

"Good for you," said Zechs. He shifted Quatre off on to Duo and nudged a hip into the door. Quatre's eyes went immediately to Sandy, lying forgotten on the floor, and he felt a weird sense of relief. Had he been looking for Sandy earlier? He must have been. He broke free of Duo and went to reclaim Sandy, but getting down and getting back up was a little beyond him, so Quatre decided the floor was a safer location to be anyway. He couldn't fall off that way. Ship or skyscraper, the one with the big giant W that glowed, glowed red in his dreams sometimes, too, red, red, red.

Zechs crossed to the sink and filled two glasses of water. "Duo, one's for you."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Fine, be hungover," said Zechs with a shrug. He came over and knelt in front of Quatre. "Here," he said kindly. "Drink up."

Quatre tucked Sandy up under his arm and took the water from him. "Chug-a-glug!"

"Yup," agreed Zechs. "Where'd that other pack of cupcakes go?"

"Oh, I totally ate those," said Duo. "I forgot to split them with Quatre."

"Jesus, Duo." Zechs rolled his eyes. He looped a hand through the empty plastic hoop of the six pack they'd been working on and got to his feet. "All right. Quatre, you want a sandwich?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"You should eat something anyway." Zechs popped a fresh can of beer open and set the rest into the mini-fridge. He slapped Duo's hand away from the door. "You've had enough. Both of you, you've had enough."

"What? Fuck you. That's lame. What about you?" Duo shot back.

"Me? I haven't had enough." Zechs threw him a sharp-edged grin. "Besides, I'm older than you."

"No, you're not. We're the same age. I'm seventeen, you're seventeen."

"When's your birthday?"

"April 1st, why?"

"I'm older than you," Zechs said. He looked around Duo to Quatre, who sat quietly drinking his water. He lowered his voice. "What the hell was that in the alley?"

"Oh, with Trowa?" Duo matched his whispered tone. "You know, slash-slash. Trowa's notorious for trying to off himself. And, you know."

"No," said Zechs frostily. "I don't."

"Oh," said Duo. "Never mind, then. Don't mind Quatre. He just gets edgy about that kind of thing. I mean, you can't blame him. What with Trowa's whole not-talking thing, it can't be easy. God speed, little Quatre, but, damn. At least Heero talks to me, even if it's to tell me to shut up and behave."

"What is it with you two, anyway? You meet him in the hospital?"

"Who? Heero? No. We went to school together, when I was just a regular ol' troubled orphan teen and not a padded-wall, pill-popping certifiable lunatic. I don't know. It's a work in progress kind of thing."

"You," Zechs paused, like the words were choking him, and drowned out the awkward silence with a long drink. "What, you like him?"

Duo shrugged and brushed the tip of his braid over his lips. His eyes softened, like they always did when he thought of Heero. "Yeah, something like that. He drives me absolutely fucking crazy and makes me so angry I could just spit, and I bet you anything I do the same thing right back to him. That's what love's like though, isn't it? To feel like that about someone... They've got to be wedged up somewhere tight in your heart to ever make it hurt that much."

Zechs flinched like the words were a physical blow. "I guess," he said, voice smooth despite the strange, sad twitch his face had made. He turned away from Duo under the pretense of wiping some bread crumbs from the counter to the floor.

"What, you ever been in love, Milly?" Duo said the words with a careless, flippant grin.

"Hey!" called Quatre. "Hey!" He could see Zechs's face, even if Duo couldn't, and the sight turned him into a desperate distraction, anything to draw their attention. It worked. Duo looked at him. Zechs released his white-knuckled grip on the counter. "Um," said Quatre. He needed to say something, anything.

Fortunately, Duo just laughed and came over to investigate. "What'd you need, cutie-Q?"

Quatre thrust his empty glass of water at him. "Um."

"Sure," said Duo. He took the glass and went to refill it.

Zechs had regained his composure. He slid to one side to let Duo have access to the sink and then pushed off, coming across the room to offer Quatre his hand. "Are you tired?" he asked.

"No," said Quatre. He took the offered hand and let Zechs pull him upright. Sandy tried to take a nose-dive to the floor, and without thinking Quatre went after him. He hung off-balance for a second, held in place only by Zechs's grip, before regaining his feet. Zechs kept holding his arm, like he had earlier on the stairs, and he seemed very tall and close and strong, and Quatre blinked up at him.

"You should lay down anyway," Zechs said. "Here." He guided Quatre over to the couch and urged him to sit down. "Where's your overnight stuff? You'll want to brush your teeth, trust me."

"I'm not tired."

Duo came back with the glass of water. "I bet it's in his backpack," he told Zechs. "Check there. Here, Quatre."

"You keep it," said Quatre.

"Thanks," Duo said, rolling his eyes. "I'll treasure it always. Did you find it?"

"Yeah," said Zechs. He pulled Quatre off the couch. Which seemed unfair, he'd only just arrived.

"Up, down. Up, down," said Quatre. "I'm dizzy."

"Yeah? Sorry about that," said Zechs. He sounded sincere.

"Why?"

Zechs steered him over to the sink and presented him with his toothbrush, already pasted up and dampened. "Forget about it. Here, brush."

"Brush, brush," said Quatre happily. "Up, down."

Duo flopped across the sofa and dug the remote up out of the cushions. "You're a hilariously cute drunk, Quatre."

"I am?" Quatre said, around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Yeah. Which is cool. I mean, it'd be a real shocker if you turned into some deranged, angry drunk. It'd be like, woah, alien Quatre or something. I feel cheated. I should have drank more when I had the chance. You owe me a thorough drunkening, Zechs. I'm not letting this count."

Zechs set his empty beer can aside and ran the sink so Quatre could rinse. "Whatever," he told Duo. "Maybe when you're older."

"Oh, fuck you. Seriously, can't you let that go? We're, what, like at most six months apart. When is your birthday anyway? Don't tell me you're really twenty-one year old Zechs Merquise and Milliard Peacecraft is the alias? That's completely fucked."

"Don't be stupid," said Zechs. "Come on, Quatre. Let's get you in bed."

"Why are you sweet on Quatre and mean to me? Aren't I nearly as adorable? Come here so I can give you big puppy-eyes."

"I'm not tired," Quatre said. He started for the sofa, which served as his bed. He curled on one end, and Duo the other, or sometimes Duo sat on the floor and watched television while he and Zechs slept; Duo didn't seem to need much sleep; sometimes he napped during the day and often stayed up all night. Zechs pulled him behind the folding screen, however, toward the double bed with its sheets all rumpled up in disarray.

"This is your bed," Quatre said.

Zechs set him on the edge and knelt to work at the knotted laces of Quatre's sneakers. "You can use it."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you."

Zechs shrugged and slid one shoe free.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about being nice."

"I'm not," Zechs snapped. He jerked off Quatre's other shoe without undoing the laces all the way, so the motion nearly pulled Quatre free of the bed. "Stop talking. You're drunk."

Quatre felt his cheeks burst into flame. He stared down at the top of Sandy's head. Something wet blurred his vision. "Sorry," he whispered.

A tall shadow fell over him as Zechs stood. He dropped Quatre's shoes to the floor next to the bed. "I didn't mean it like that. You're fine. I've put worse drunks to bed before. Okay?"

Quatre nodded, afraid that if he tried to say anything it would come out stupid or as part of a sob.

"Hey," said Zechs gently. He knelt slightly and set a cautious hand on Quatre's knee. "You're okay. You had fun, right?"

Quatre nodded again. It had been fun.

"See? There you go." Zechs gave him knee a pat and got back to his feet. With a small, sideways glance, Zechs slipped back around the screen and out to join Duo on the couch. Quatre listened to the familiar sound of them bickering over the remote, and the sheer normalcy of it made him smile.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Okay, next chapter will be out really, really soon! Lots of exciting stuff coming up, I can't wait.

Rushing to bed right this second, but desperately wanted to get the update up first. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading and please review if you like the story!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	68. Revealed

LSC / 01-29-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Eight: Revealed)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 68

**Revealed**

* * *

After a small amount of confusion, in which his fingers refused to function the way fingers normally did, Quatre worked free of his jeans and let them drop down next to his shoes. He stretched out on the bed and rolled up inside one of the blankets. Either Duo or Zechs got up and turned off the lights, so that only the glow of the television broke the gentle darkness. The spinning sensation rose up stronger than ever, and Quatre squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to find some sort of stillness. It felt like floating again, or rocking across the surface of a heaving, roiling ocean, rather than the pleasant cloud-in-the-sky giddiness as before. Quatre hoped he wouldn't be sick.

He curled around Sandy, the bear's eyes cool and smooth against his cheek. His thoughts broke apart, like waves parting before that same silly ship metaphor, as he drifted, drifted between someplace pleasant and somewhere anxious. The twirling, whirling dizzy feeling intensified and weakened, scattering his consciousness and creating the most bewildering half-dreams. He threw out a hand to slap the floor, because someone had drawn a four, and tossed Sandy clear of the bed with the gesture.

The bed rose and fell. He must be sailing again. Captain of a ship? That didn't seem right. He could have gone overseas on a boat, but he hadn't, he'd flown, and maybe now he could fly. The bed shifted again. Everything felt much too warm, like maybe he was stuck in an oven with a batch of cupcakes. Couldn't you kill yourself that way, breathing oven fumes? He shouldn't let Trowa cook. Catherine must have hid all the knives. He never saw her using them. She kept his pills with her at all times, and sometimes Quatre saw her counting them, just be sure. Trowa, Trowa, Trowa, with one beautiful green eye that lurked behind the sweep of his bangs, and a soft, velvet voice that only Quatre got to hear, ever, ever, ever, except for that other boy, the one that Trowa liked just as much as him. Oh, he hoped that he wouldn't be sick, how dizzy he felt, and maybe he was dreaming now, or maybe not.

Much too warm, he was sweating. Quatre needed free of the blankets. He rolled one way and then the other, squirming free. There was the edge of the bed, he needed to be on the other side so he wouldn't fall. He scooted toward the middle and bumped up against something soft and warm. Sandy? That didn't seem right. When did Sandy get so big? Must be Trowa! Quatre snuggled happily into him.

The not-Sandy must-be-Trowa shifted away, but Quatre soon had him pinned against the wall. "Are you asleep?" came a strangled sort of whisper.

"I don't know," Quatre whispered back.

"Quatre, stop it."

"What?" Quatre opened his eyes. His cheek was pressed against the soft fabric of a well-faded shirt, and underneath that fabric was a broad expanse of chest.

"Wake up," said Zechs.

"Oh!" Quatre pulled away so fast he nearly fell off the edge of the bed. "I'msosorry!"

"Shh. Don't wake up Duo. You're fine." Zechs rose up on to an elbow. "I thought you were asleep."

Quatre slid his hands through the blankets, underneath his pillow, everywhere he dared that wasn't directly against Zechs. Where was Sandy? He rolled for the edge and reached a hand down, and then the other, feeling frantically across the carpet.

"What are you doing? Are you going to be sick?" Zechs sat up and curled a hand around Quatre's waist. "Don't fall off, for Christ's sake."

Quatre's fingers brushed against fur, and he snatched Sandy up at the same time that Zechs hauled him back into the bed. "Just lay down. Go back to sleep."

Sandy once more secure in his arms, Quatre tried to do as Zechs said. The other boy scooted close to the wall and put his back firmly to Quatre. He lay still and quiet in the still and quiet room, listening to the barely-audible sound of Duo's soft snores and the much closer but not much louder sound of Zechs breathing. His own heart thud, thud, thudded and the room spun so terribly. Quatre pressed Sandy against his chest. He rolled to his side, facing the edge. After a moment he flipped to his other side, facing Zechs. Before he had been warm, but now he felt cold, and snuggled underneath the blankets. Maybe Zechs wouldn't mind if he wiggled just the tiniest bit closer, to leech some of his warmth.

"Quatre," said Zechs. Slow and patient, his voice just another soft sound in the gloom. Duo must have left the television on, as he liked to do at night, because its light flickered uneasily and cast strange shadows. "Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep."

Zechs rolled on to his back. "Neither can I, with you flopping all over the place."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I didn't mean it like that. How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy. Everything's spinning."

"You got it bad, huh? Try not to think about it. Do you want me to get you another glass of water?"

"No." Quatre pulled Sandy up close against his face and watched Zechs carefully over the top of the bear's ears.

"Okay," said Zechs. He stretched his hands up behind his head, and Quatre caught a glimpse of his wrists. They seemed naked without his usual leather cuffs; he must have taken the bracelets off to sleep. He couldn't stop a soft intake of breath, just the faintest of gasps, and Zechs shifted a glance over him. The puzzled frown on his face vanished with sudden understanding, and Zechs turned his head away. "Stop it," he said quietly. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm sorry," said Quatre. He buried his face into Sandy, to best hide his stupid, curious look. As always, ever always, it made him think of Trowa, and the confusing not-dreams flew up out of the jumble of his thoughts. Catherine, hiding all the knives, counting his pills, and always that look of relief when she came into the room and saw him just sitting there, alive and whole. Trowa, over the telephone, telling him, _I know what you're going to say_, when Quatre tried to tell him, tried to make him promise not to do anything – the way Trowa always wanted to hide his scars, just like Zechs, how he never wanted Quatre to look at them or touch his arms, like if both of them just never talked about it, everything would be okay.

"It's okay," said Zechs at last. "It doesn't really matter." He turned on to his side and looked across the short distance of their pillows at Quatre. "Duo told me, about Trowa. Is that what this is about?"

Quatre nodded slowly.

"Quatre," he said, and then stopped. He curled his hand into the blankets between them. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I don't know Trowa. I don't know why he did it."

"Oh."

Zechs slowly tilted his hand up, showing Quatre the scar that ran straight across his wrist. Red, Trowa's were red, too, but starting to fade into pink, unlike this raw and angry line, the swollen skin just barely healed and still puckered slightly from where stitches must have been at some point. Straight across his wrist, whereas Trowa's ran up his arm, but Quatre knew he shouldn't stare and eventually forced his eyes away.

"Oh," he said again, in the tiniest of voices.

"I don't know how Trowa feels about it, but I feel pretty stupid," Zechs said. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Did it hurt?"

"Not really."

"Oh," said Quatre. He swallowed. Hard, and it tasted bitter. "Zechs. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, you don't… I'm sorry."

"Sure," said Zechs, in that careless way of his. "Okay." He closed his hand into a fist and pulled it away, pressing the scar against his chest.

"N-no, I…" Quatre crushed Sandy to him. "It's just… I don't know what to do about Trowa," he said, all in a rush. "He won't talk to me about it. I want to help him. I have to help him. I'm so s-scared that, he'll…" A desperate, miserable sorrow clawed out from his heart and ripped open fresh wounds as it poured out in a sudden flurry of tears. He buried his face into Sandy, trying to muffle the outburst. His bear never minded the sloppy wetness of sobs; one of Sandy's more endearing traits, and the thought was so silly that a half-hysteric laugh escaped him.

"Hey," said Zechs softly. He gathered Quatre to him in a swift and strong hug. "Hey, stop that. Don't cry over him," he said, with more kindness in his voice than Quatre had ever heard from him before. "Please don't cry. Whatever happened to being a cute drunk?"

Quatre tried to laugh, but it tumbled out with a gurgling sniffle. "S-s-s," he tried to apologize.

"Shh," rumbled Zechs, low and close and warm. He rubbed a hand across Quatre's shoulders. "It's okay. Cry it out, if you want. I don't mind."

He sobbed brokenly, pressed into the fabric of Zechs's shirt rather than Sandy's fur, but the soft cotton soaked up his tears just as effectively. Zechs kept a tight hold on him, murmuring soft and kind reassurances that washed Quatre into a lulled sense of peace, even as he felt powerless to stop the furious sadness that coursed through him and drew out a seemingly endless supply of fresh tears.

A strange sound punctured through Quatre's weeping. It came again, small and sharp like a thunderclap. Zechs jolted at the noise. His grip on Quatre tightened and then flew apart as he sat shock upright.

Quatre hiccupped around an intake of breath and tried to sit up as well, a task made difficult by the fact he was still half-crying. Through a haze of tears and the strange, jumping light of the television, he could only see a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed. Not thunderclaps, actual claps, because the shadow made another one before coming around the side of the bed.

"Aha! I'm awake! What!" came Duo's voice, from the sofa.

"Trowa?" managed Quatre. He was right there now, one knee on the bed as he leaned over to close a hand over Quatre's elbow. He hauled Quatre violently away from Zechs. Even in the dark, even with the glow of the television and the obscuring sweep of hair, there was absolutely no mistaking the absolute terrifying fury stamped all over Trowa's face. Quatre went shock-still at the sight.

"Trowa," said Zechs, slow and careful, like one would address a mad dog. "Don't get the wrong idea, okay?"

Trowa snapped a glare at him. He clapped once, loud and furious, and Quatre realized with some amazement it was serving as the equivalent of what would normally be a yell, maybe a curse. Trowa pulled Quatre to the edge of the bed and looked around for a moment before spotting Sandy, lying next to Zechs. Before Trowa could react, Zechs quickly snatched up the bear and held it out, maybe as a peace offering, and Trowa nearly ripped the little black bow free of Sandy's neck in his haste to grab it. He thrust Sandy at Quatre and then knelt to shove Quatre's jeans at him as well.

"Trowa," said Quatre. "Trowa, w-what are you doing here?"

Emeralds glittering black with rage snapped over him. Fresh tears poured down Quatre's face as his breath hitched around a sob. Trowa pointed at the jeans, the meaning clear.

Duo rounded the screen. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded. "What the hell is Trowa doing here? Why is Quatre crying?"

Trowa turned and clapped at Duo. To Quatre, it was unmistakably_ shut up!_ and that knowledge only made him want to cry harder. Embarrassment over his tears quickly overwhelmed him; crying all over Zechs was bad enough, but now he was the center of something very ugly, and he hated it. Quatre scrubbed his shoulder over his face several times in rapid succession, trying to quell and calm the torrential outburst.

"Why the fuck are you clapping at me?" Duo advanced toward Quatre, but Trowa was suddenly there, blocking him. "Seriously, what the hell? Quatre, are you okay? Why are you crying? Why is he crying?" he demanded, looking first to Trowa and then to Zechs. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," said Zechs. "Jesus, I didn't do anything. Trowa… This is just a misunderstanding."

Quatre slipped his feet into his sneakers but didn't bother to lace them. He held out an unsteady hand for balance and tried to stand. Emphasis on tried, because the moment he left the bed he staggered. Trowa whirled and caught him, hands gripping him tight, Oh, the spinning was back, way worse than before, a woozy vertigo that tangled aggressively with the stomach-clenching anxiety that shook him from the very first moment he saw Trowa's anger.

"Ughn," he moaned. "I'm going to be sick."

Zechs reacted first. With surprising swiftness he scrambled out of the bed and plucked Quatre free of Trowa. Before Trowa could recover from his surprise, Zechs had Quatre moving, rushing him past Duo. He would have stumbled, he would have fallen, if not for Zechs's firm and insistent grip, one hand around his waist and the other set against his shoulder.

Zechs shoved him, albeit gently, down to kneel in front of the trashcan. Cold sweat made his palms clammy as Quatre gripped the rim and waited. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he - dizzying nausea ripped through him, and Quatre doubled over the trash can.

"Get the light," Zechs was saying. "We're all awake now."

"What time is it, anyway? Christ on toast, will someone answer a single goddamn question of mine? Trowa, swear to God, if you clap at me again I'm going to kick you in the nuts."

Quatre finished emptying what little had been in his stomach to begin with and coughed raggedly. He spit something vile and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. A gentle hand pulled him upright and steered him over to the sink. Quatre gratefully cupped water over his face, scrubbing away clammy sweat and sick. He rinsed and spat several times.

"Gah, hiss, the light, it burns," muttered Duo.

Quatre blinked several times, wincing a silent agreement. He stayed bent over the sink, for several reasons, chief among them embarrassment. Lesser but still agonizing concerns included not wanting to see the look on Trowa's face and being unsure he could lift his head without needing to throw up again.

"All right?" asked Zechs quietly. He sounded close.

Quatre nodded, pressing his forehead into his arm. Maybe they'd all just go away and let him crawl back into the bed.

"Well, that was exciting," said Duo, in a dry, indistinct tone. Like maybe he was still a little drunk, too. "Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on? Holy shit, it's after midnight. What the fuck are you doing here, Trowa?"

"I called him," groaned Quatre.

Trowa made a soft sound. It sounded suspiciously like he'd stamped his foot to draw their attention.

"Yeah, I see you, Tro," said Duo. His voice grew closer. "What do you want? Surprise, you got drunk dialed. Are you pissed at Quatre over it? Is that why he was crying? Did you fucking clap at him, too? What, is that your new creative way of yelling at us? We were all having fun until you showed up. Don't make Quatre cry. It's not his fault."

Duo ran his hand over Quatre's back in a wide circle, comforting and gentle. His firm conclusion over Quatre's tears moved a fierce loyalty, and Quatre felt a fresh wash of horrible guilt. How much have that looked to Trowa, him and Zechs? But Zechs had only been nice to him, and - Quatre gripped the sink as a powerful surge of panic threatened to utterly obliterate his remaining desperate shreds of balance.

Oh, God, how must that have looked to Trowa? Trowa, come all this way to check on him, not guessing that Quatre had only been drunk and stupid and impulsive. What had he even said to Trowa on the phone? He couldn't remember. What could he say now, to explain, that wouldn't break the trust that Zechs had set between them, showing Quatre his scar and speaking so honestly?

Tremors rattled him, strong enough that his knees gave out, and Quatre slumped to the floor in front of the sink. He felt too cold and too hot all at once. A crushing sensation squeezed out his last breath and stuck fast around the new one. Rapid-fire and violent, his heart pulsed a staccato harsh enough that his vision shook.

"Hey," said Duo in alarm. He followed Quatre to the floor. "You going to be sick again?"

Zechs knelt on his other side. They were closing ranks on him, blocking out Trowa, pressing close - too close - with their concern. "Quatre, calm down, you're okay."

Quatre shook his head wildly. They didn't understand. It wasn't okay - Trowa was mad at him, Trowa was going to do something he couldn't stop, Quatre shouldn't have been so pathetic and weepy and put himself in that sort of situation, the sort of situation that Trowa could catch him in. There was that other boy, that Trowa liked, what was he like? Was he anything like Quatre, better than Quatre, or different, so different that this had to just be some weird fluke, that Trowa went along with because he was nice.

"Come on, cutie-Q, you're okay. Goddammit, Trowa, stop glaring at everyone. You're freaking him out worse than anything."

"Shh," snapped Zechs. "You're not helping, Duo. Where's his bear?"

"I don't know. I'll find him. Okay, Quatre? Sandy to the rescue!" Duo bounced to his feet. He grabbed Trowa's elbow on the way. "Come on, you big dumb mute. I don't know what the hell you did to him or why you're so mad, but, cut it out!"

Quatre squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his knees. He didn't want to see anymore. He couldn't catch his breath. The air came and left too quickly, leaving him dizzy and making him all the more anxious, that maybe he was going to pass out. Even knowing what was going on, that it was just a stupid panic attack, didn't help, because the more he tried to hold on to that feeling the deeper and deeper he sunk into bewildering, exhausting terror. Maybe it wasn't a panic attack, maybe it was something else, maybe it was never going to end, maybe he was having a heart attack, world record breaking heart attack at sixteen, and he was going to die right there on the floor with Zechs's arm around him and voice in his ear, trying to tell him it was okay when Quatre knew, he knew it wasn't okay.

"Here, here I found him. I found Sandy," Duo called. "Back the fuck off, Trowa, you're not helping!" Duo met him on the floor again and wedged the teddy bear between Quatre's chest and knees. "There. You're gonna be fine, kiddo. Just try to breathe slow, okay? Is there anything we can give him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, break into the doctor's toolbox and snag something to calm him down."

"Are you fucking stupid? You can't mix that shit with alcohol."

"It was just an idea," Duo muttered. "Hell, no, Trowa, you just stand over there. I'm not letting you near Quatre until you calm down and he calms down and someone explains to me what the fuck just happened. Swear to God. I fall asleep for, like, two minutes and everything goes to hell."

Zechs shifted at the same time as Duo, Quatre could feel them closing in on him again. "What Duo said. Leave the kid alone," Zechs said. His fingers curled protectively into Quatre's shoulder.

"Yeah," said Duo. "Back off, Trowa."

Did neither of them understand that they were only going to make things worse? If Trowa was mad at him, he had every right to be - no, that wasn't fair, Quatre hadn't done anything wrong! But maybe he had. Maybe he shouldn't have done anything, but what had he done in the first place?

"Quatre," said Duo. His hand played through Quatre's hair, brushing it this way and that with an idle gesture of comfort. "You gotta settle down. Try to breathe slow, yeah? In, two, three. Out, two, three. In, two, three. Out, two three. Come on. Do it with me."

Quatre nodded against his knees. He could do that. He could listen to Duo.

"Perfect, cutie-Q. In, two, three. Out, two three."

They all just sat like that for a while, Duo and Zechs on either side of him, Trowa somewhere else being held off by their bristled protection, and Quatre curled around the ache in his chest. Agonizing minutes passed before Quatre felt any semblance of control, but the attack did finally lift and leave him, weak and drained as always, trembling with the lingering aftershocks. He slowly lifted his head off his knees and relaxed the death-grip his hands had dug into his shins.

"Hey," said Duo softly. "There ya go. Feeling better?"

Zechs stood up long enough to get a glass of water. Quatre glanced around until he saw Trowa's feet, and was too intimidated to search out the boy's face. He saw Trowa try to step forward, into the gap Zechs had left, and Quatre flinched back against Duo.

"Hey!" barked Duo. "What'd we say?"

Zechs crouched next to him again and offered the water. He and Duo exchanged some sort of look; Quatre felt it pass between them but couldn't make sense of it.

"Okay," said Duo. "We've got this under control, Trowa. Why don't you just go home? Whatever you and Quatre need to hash out can wait until morning."

Quatre kept his face averted, choosing instead to engage in a staring contest with Sandy. Who, incidentally, always won.

"Yeah," said Duo. "I'm serious. Go home. No, I'm not letting you take Quatre. He's better off staying here. You made him cry, asshole. What, you think I'm just going to let you haul him off so you can clap at him some more? Come on, Tro. Be reasonable."

"Duo. It's okay."

Duo's mouth popped open and then snapped shut. "You want me to kick his ass?" he whispered to Quatre. "Zechs and I, we totally got this."

"No, it's okay." Quatre took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. "I'll go with Trowa."

"Quatre, you don't have to," said Zechs from his other side. "Don't let him intimidate you."

"Yeah," agreed Duo. "Whatever kind of misunderstanding this is, it can wait."

"Trowa can just deal with it. Don't worry," said Zechs. "You shouldn't worry about him, okay?"

"Zechs is right. Look, I'm telling you Zechs is right. Doesn't that count for something extra? For serious, Quatre. Let's just get you back into bed. You can meet back up with Trowa in the morning, once you've sobered off and he's had a chance to calm down."

Quatre shook his head and pulled Sandy close.

Duo sighed. "Okay. If you're sure."

He nodded.

Zechs and Duo each gave him a hand up. Duo kept an arm around his waist, tucking him close for a moment in a sideways hug. "You're absolutely sure?"

"You don't have to," Zechs reminded him. "He'll be fine if you don't."

Quatre shook his head at them, not trusting his voice, and timidly peaked out at Trowa through the fringe of his bangs. The other boy stood nearby, brows tightly furrowed with an intense look of distaste at Zechs. Quatre shrank against Duo, knocked completely shy by the unexpected strength of Trowa's anger.

Duo put his other arm around Quatre. "Let the record show that one Duo Maxwell, B to the double-F, disagrees entirely with this decision. Swear to God, Trowa. You fuck this up any worse, and I'm going to -" Duo broke off his threat with a strangled curse. "Okay, okay. You got all your stuff, Quatre? You hold tight to Sandy. Zechs—"

"Here. I got it," Zechs held the backpack so Quatre could slipped his arms through the straps. "You still dizzy?"

Quatre shook his head. Throwing up seemed to have cured him of the spinning sensation, at least for the moment.

"Good," said Zechs.

Duo tightened him into a hug and spoke softly, right into his ear so that Trowa couldn't overhear. "Don't let him bully you, Quatre. I know you love him, but, trust me. Sometimes you just gotta put your foot down. Don't let him make this your problem."

"Okay, Duo." He couldn't look at any of them. He just wanted to lay down somewhere dark and quiet and be alone. Maybe he should have let them get rid of Trowa - no, no, he couldn't do that. They didn't know, but he did, he knew that once he and Trowa got into the car, once they were alone— He swallowed against a sudden resurgence of panic. When they were alone, he could try to explain things to Trowa.

Trowa did slip his hand through his as they left, but it seemed more possessive than tender. Quatre glanced back once, right at the doorway, to see Duo and Zechs both just standing there, watching him. Duo lifted his hand in a wave, and Quatre tried to offer back a weak smile, but Trowa tugged him impatiently out into the hall.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I told you the next chapter would be out soon, and here it is! Hope you like it. I'm hard at work on the next one, which I'm sure you're all eager to see. Or, at least, I hope you are!

As for the confusion about Sandy – in chapter 56 it mentions that Quatre begins to carry his bear everywhere in his backpack, which is why Sandy appears at Heero's and against in these last few chapters. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	69. Trouble

LSC / 2-3-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Sixty-Nine: Trouble)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 69

**Trouble**

* * *

When they got to the car, Trowa started the engine and then just sat there, forehead resting against the steering wheel. Quatre shuffled Sandy from underneath one arm to the other and tipped his head into the smooth and cool glass of the window. He expected Trowa to say something at any moment, but the other boy held his silence. After a moment he pulled the car out into the dark and quiet street and started driving home.

Finally Quatre could take no more. "Trowa," he started to say."I—"

"Don't," he snapped. "Just. Don't, Quatre. Not now."

At least he was saying something. Quatre tried to take that as a reassurance. He pulled Sandy's ear into his mouth and bit down around a welling of tears. He wouldn't cry again. He tried to tell himself it was just the lingering effect of the alcohol that made him so emotional, or the shaken, empty feeling of the panic attack, but he glanced sideways at the stern and stoic profile of Trowa and had a hard time believing his own lies.

Trowa did not drive back to Catherine's apartment, at least not straight away. He turned off the main road and pulled the car into the far edge of a dark parking lot of a closed up, empty building. And then he just sat there, gripping the steering wheel and staring at his hands rather than look at Quatre.

Timidly, Quatre tried to broach the subject again. "Trowa? I'm sorry."

"What were you even thinking, Quatre? You're too young to drink."

"I'm not that much younger than you, or Duo, or Zechs! I just… we were having fun. I wanted to have fun."

"Fun," repeated Trowa, in a flat, hostile way that set Quatre's nerves on edge. "Fun. Well, did you have fun? Was that fun for you?"

"Stop it, Trowa. Stop it. Don't yell at me."

"I'm not yelling," Trowa insisted. "What do you want me to say?" Trowa dug into the wheel, knuckles white, before dropping his hands into his lap. "How can I possibly talk to you? You'll just have another panic attack."

"Oh!" Quatre cried, the words cutting him deep. "Th-that's not fair!"

"No, it isn't!" Trowa snapped. "It isn't fair at all! You know what else isn't fair? I saw you with _him_. I saw you, and I couldn't say anything! And Duo, Duo gets mad at _me_, and you don't say a damn thing about it otherwise!"

"Me?" Quatre cried. He dug his fingers into Sandy's fur. "What did you want _me_ to say?"

"I don't know! You could have said anything, like why you were crying, or why you were half-naked in bed with Zechs! Any reaction besides a nervous breakdown – like it excuses you from facing responsibility."

"Stop it! You could have said something, too, Trowa! I _know_ you can talk!"

Trowa looked at him, then, for the first time since getting in the car. Something smoldered like dark green fire in his gaze, but instead of feeling afraid, a small spark kindled fury within Quatre's heart. Quatre rushed on, reckless and bold. "You've never explained it to me! We both just keep acting like it doesn't matter, but, it does! It does matter, Trowa. It matters to me. Am I the only person you've ever talked to, all this time?"

"Quatre," he said carefully, in a dangerous way that only fanned the flames engulfing Quatre's heart. They burned hotter than any cold panic ever could. "Don't change the subject."

"You're the one who brought it up!" He was yelling now, his small voice filling the confines of the car. "You can't expect this of me, it isn't fair! You have to tell me; am I the only one?"

"Stop it, Quatre. You don't know what you're saying. You're—"

"Don't say it! Don't try to brush me off. Yeah, I drank. I got drunk. That doesn't mean you can just treat me like this, push me around and have your way. Duo said—"

"I don't want to hear what Duo said," Trowa growled. "I heard enough out of him already."

"He said that I shouldn't let people push me around, especially you! Well, I'm not going to let you. You can't. Answer my question."

"No," the word shattered out between them. "The answer is no. I haven't. Just you."

"What about Neil?"

"Who?"

Quatre's nails bit into the seam of Sandy's arm, tight enough that he feared breaking the bear, and he balled his hands into fists instead, sparing Sandy. "You know who," he shot back. "Duo told me all about it. He said that you liked him just like you liked me."

Some of the confusion cleared, knocked askew by an upsweep of anger. "That was nothing." Trowa said. "Why were you even talking about it?"

"I don't know," Quatre said crisply. "That's what friends do, they talk. Everyone talks – except _you_."

Trowa jerked in his seat, like maybe he was going to hit something, or maybe even Quatre, who flinched back out of a sudden, genuine fear that he'd gone way too far. The words were out; he couldn't take them back. Trowa did reach for him then, and Quatre all but flattened himself against the passenger door, but the other boy's hand fell on his shoulder with a gentle firmness.

"No one but you, Quatre. Why would I lie about that? It's only ever been you, from the very beginning."

Quatre eased down out of his tense attempt to flee out of the closed and locked door. He turned his face away, suddenly embarrassed for his angry outburst.

Trowa continued, the gentleness breaking back into bitter fury with each new word. "You're being very hypocritical to bring up something like that, when I just caught you in bed with someone."

And just that swiftly, his embarrassment flew out in a shocked gasp. "It's just Zechs!" he countered, keenly aware of how defensive and guilty it sounded.

"Just nothing," snarled Trowa. "You owe me an explanation. You were crying. He had his arms around you. I saw, Quatre. It wasn't that dark. I saw the look on his face."

"I don't know what you're talking about. He was just being nice."

Trowa pulled back to his side of the car, any semblance of tenderness between them vanished. "If I hadn't of showed up, what would have happened?"

Quatre barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing! Nothing would have happened, Trowa."

"It didn't look like nothing."

"Stop it. Don't be like that."

"Like what? Dammit, Quatre, you owe me an explanation! I can't believe you just sat there and let Duo think the worst about me, that I was the one who made you cry!"

"Well! You were!" Quatre shot back. "I was crying because of you!"

"Me?" Trowa's eyes searched his face. "What the hell did I do?"

"I—" Quatre snapped his mouth shut around the words, so the sound came out as a squeak. Zechs had trusted him, almost literally laying his heart out on the bed between them, and Quatre felt a deep loathing to break that fragile connection. For all his earlier tears and worry, for all his anger and self-righteous indignation, Quatre felt powerless to actually throw his accusations and concerns at Trowa. He shifted in his seat and sought solace in the gentle, non-judgmental expression on Sandy's stitched face.

"Quatre," said Trowa, his voice stern and commanding. "Why was he holding you?"

"Because I was upset. He was just trying to be nice. Zechs is a good friend." Quatre's brows drew together. "I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter, Trowa."

"Yes, it does. It matters to me," Trowa voice glinted sharp with tightly bound emotion. He was putting forth effort not to resume their earlier shouting match, which, now receded, left behind a stilted, nerve-wracking awkwardness that shook Quatre to the core.

"Trowa," he said, and it came out as a whine. "I can't tell you."

"Quatre. Damn it, Quatre. Don't do this to me. You can't. Don't you understand what this is like for me? Didn't I just tell you how much you mean to me?" Trowa dug his nails into the vinyl of the steering wheel, leaving behind little crescent imprints when he finally pulled his hands away. He looked down at them in his lap.

"Quatre," he said, the name sliding out around that smooth velvet tone that immediately settled into Quatre's veins and made him shiver. "Quatre. I love you. You know that. Whatever you say, whatever you do, that is never going to change, okay?"

"Okay," Quatre said automatically. The warmth that rushed his face contained equal amounts giddy happiness and terrible, gut-wrenching shyness. Nothing could make him lift his eyes from an intensive and desperate study of Sandy's face, no amount of tenderness from Trowa could, in that moment, sway him out of timid reticence.

Trowa started the car. "I can't fight with you anymore right now. I just… We can talk about it later. It's late."

"Okay."

They drove the rest of the way in jagged silence. Bone-weary exhaustion settled into Quatre, now that the excitement of the fight was over, and he rested his head against the window. The dark, empty streets passed in a blur, and he must have drifted into some semblance of sleep, because Trowa had to shake him awake with a quiet, "We're here."

Eyes locked on the upstairs apartment, Trowa spoke low and quick. "Catherine's asleep. We have to be extremely quiet. We can't wake her up."

"Wh—" the word broke into a yawn. He blinked away a gritty sleepiness. "What'd she say about me coming over?"

Trowa fiddled with the keys. "I didn't tell her."

"What?"

"What did you expect me to do? God, Quatre, do you have _any_ idea what you sounded like on the phone? I was terrified! If I'd known you were just drunk I wouldn't have snuck out like this. I—" Trowa sucked in air and visibly swallowed back a resurgence of anger. "She won't even know you're there. Her shift starts at six; I'll wake up before her. She won't have any reason to go into my room. You can sleep in. Just be gone before we get back at two. Okay?"

"Okay."

Trowa looked at him, like maybe he was going to say something more. The moment passed, and he got out of the car. Quatre fumbled a hand over the door handle until it unlatched and let him out. The stairs proved just tricky enough that Trowa gently looped their arms together, and Quatre's tongue tangled around a flimsy explanation that it was just tiredness that made him stumble. The truth lay somewhere in between.

He caught Trowa's hand just as he twisted the key through the lock, but before he could open the door. Quatre curled his fingers over Trowa's. He had to say something, and he had to say it quick, because once they got inside it would be too late. Trowa would stop talking, the openness between then, even in times like this when they fought, it would vanish, and he would be left with only that half of Trowa that everyone else knew. The other half, with the soft velvet voice that was his and his alone, Quatre needed to hold on to it while he still could.

"Wait," he whispered. "Trowa. I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I said."

Trowa shook his head. Quatre felt a sharp pang; too late, he was losing Trowa to his silence again. He pressed forward, eager and urgent and all tied up in anxious knots. "Trowa. I… I…" his voice spiraled tight around something important. "I love you."

There. He'd said it. The words with all their wrapped up emotion flew between them and spread out into frozen stillness. Quatre could barely draw breath around the fragile silence, so different than all the innumerable silences that had come before and would surely come after. He'd already laid his heart in Trowa's capable hands and reaffirmed it several times over, but he'd never said the words, never passed that previous oath between them.

Trowa bent his head into the crook of Quatre's neck and nuzzled a kiss right up against the soft skin. "Quatre," he whispered, full of wonder and something else, something warm that made him blush. His strong arm caught Quatre around the waist and pulled him close. Quatre's worldview narrowed to the sensation of Trowa's fervent devotion, the way his lips made gentle kisses between his brows, on each cheek, and back against the little crook of space behind the ear, the place that always melted soft pleasure through every last nerve.

He vaguely registered Trowa pulling him inside the apartment. They were up against the door again, but at a different angle, with shadowy lumps of furniture behind Trowa rather than bug-fogged street lights and parked cars. Trowa slipped the straps of the backpack from Quatre's shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He pressed Quatre to the door, and Quatre lifted into the embrace, wrapping his legs around Trowa's hips for balance.

Sandy tumbled free to the floor, and Quatre let the bear go; Trowa's body against his was better than anything else ever could be. He thought at the last minute to turn his face away, suddenly recalling the beer coming and going in what had to be an unpleasantness, but Trowa seemed content to play his affections against the side of Quatre's exposed neck. Shivers raced over his skin at each small movement of Trowa's lips, and Quatre tightened his grip intro Trowa's shoulders.

Some small, needful noise escaped him, a mewling cry that Trowa muffled with a kiss; and what a kiss, filled with all the things that Trowa wanted to say but couldn't, and Quatre gave him another squeeze with his hands, urging him on. Trowa kept him pinned to the door, and normally such a constriction might give Quatre pause, but never with Trowa – always with Trowa was only the sense of his closeness, a warmth and comfort, security beyond Quatre's understanding.

Trowa's hand slid the length of Quatre's thigh and left behind a trail of fire that quickly spread through his hips and groin. "Nng," Quatre managed, shuddering against the heated touch. "Trowa," he whispered.

"Say it again," Trowa mouthed back, using his bedroom voice, the one that seemed more telepathy than speech.

"Ah... Trowa." Quatre gasped.

"Not that. The other. Say it again."

"Oh... that." Words were beginning to escape him, lost to panted breath as Trowa lavished attention to the crest of his ear, the nook behind his lobe, the sensitive, soft curve of bare skin and tender nerves. "I... I love you."

Trowa lurched forward, so that they seemed to merge together, Quatre suspended between Trowa and the door. He pulled Trowa's hips to his with the slender flex of his thighs and earned a ragged intake of breath from Trowa for his boldness. The headlong rush was exhilarating, intoxicating, it felt like being drunk all over again but a thousand times better. Quatre tipped his head back and closed his eyes as Trowa explored a hand up under his shirt. Fingertips brushed radial bursts of pleasure across the sensitive plane of his chest, and Quatre saw a burst of light behind his closed eyelids.

Extremely bright light, as if he'd reached his peak already, and for a single disorienting moment Quatre anticipated the heaving, bursting release despite Trowa having only begun to touch him. A voice shattered that illusion. Not light behind his eyes, light in the room; the apartment flooded with light.

"Trowa Barton! Where have you-" Catherine's voice shattered into a small shriek, so great was her surprise.

Quatre's eyes snapped open as frigid, shocked silence descended into place like a heavy snowfall. He fully and irrevocably appreciated the scene unfolded before her; his legs around Trowa, Trowa nestled into Quatre's neck, and Quatre flushed and breathless and no doubt guilty as sin as he stared Catherine over Trowa's shoulder.

Trowa gently eased Quatre to the floor and then just stood there, hands gripping Quatre's shoulders like a lifeline. He stared at something behind Quatre or, considering his back was still to the door, more like nothing. Quatre flicked his nervous gaze to Catherine, who clutched the neck of her bathrobe closed and stared back with enormous round eyes. With all the heavy acceptance of a man on a gallows' march, Trowa turned to face her. He kept between his sister and Quatre, as if to hide the smaller boy with his own body.

A slow blush worked its way out of the terry cloth and into her cheeks, and Quatre saw the precise moment when she decided to, for the moment, ignore the painfully obvious. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea how you worried me? I nearly called the police!"

Trowa flinched back at her words, flattening Quatre to the door again. He slipped out from around Trowa. "It's my fault," he said quickly, tumbling over a frantic apology. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad at Trowa."

Her eyes settled on him. They weren't exactly hostile but gone was the sweet, sisterly concern he'd grown so used to seeing. Her fingers tightened around the neck of her robe. Trowa wrapped a protective arm over Quatre's chest and pulled him close. The three of them maintained those positions, tense and terrible, until Quatre could stand no more of it; he was too exhausted and worn for the stress and panic that buffeted him. He began to tremble, which Trowa surely felt, because his hold tightened, and then he took a deep breath. Quatre could feel it. Something prickled the fine hairs along the back of his neck, something besides Trowa's breathing, and suddenly he had a very desperate understanding that Trowa was about to _say_ something.

It was Catherine, however, who broke the silence first. She let out a sharp, nervous laugh that made Quatre flinch. "My God! Of all things for you to have snuck out for," she said. She'd recovered her smile, forced and wan though it was. "I guess the important thing is that you're back, and you're safe. Get over here, both of you."

The moment passed for Trowa to explain; Quatre felt it leave, just as he had felt it arrive, and he couldn't decide if that disappointed or relieved him. Trowa tangled his hand into Quatre's, and he let himself be guided over to stand before Catherine.

"I don't know where to begin. You lied to me, Quatre. You took advantage of my trust. You, too, Trowa! And, I … well, we never talked about it, I guess, but…" she faltered, stumbling over all the awkwardness. "You never did show any interest in girls, but I just figured… My God! Okay, it's okay. That doesn't really matter, I guess. Not at nearly two in the morning. What were you thinking, sneaking out like that? I was worried sick."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault." Quatre stared down at the carpet. "Please. I'm very sorry." With any luck, he didn't sound drunk still. Or, maybe he should just tell her the truth for once; maybe she'd feel differently if he deflected her anger at Trowa toward himself. He got drunk and needed a ride; that was a good reason for Trowa to have snuck out. Quatre gulped in a breath and felt Trowa give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Catherine rushed on, right on top of the space in which Quatre planned to throw his explanation. "The other night, when you came back late, was that your fault, too, Quatre?" She sounded kind, despite the accusation in the words, but Quatre cringed anyway. "Trowa, you should know better. Don't let your frien—er, boyfri—Oh! It's too late for this! I'm going to try and get in a few more hours before I have to go to work. And you have school in the morning, Quatre! Really, you two! Well. Get brushed up and into bed. Trowa, come here for a second. I want to talk to you."

Trowa reluctantly let go of Quatre's hand and followed his sister into her bedroom. Catherine closed the door firmly behind her, shutting out Quatre's insatiable curiosity. He quickly reclaimed Sandy and his backpack both and, on the way to the bathroom, hesitated outside the closed door. He could only hear Catherine's voice, lecturing in the same patient tone she always gave Trowa, and some part of him released a taut coil of stress. She hadn't kicked him out, at least, or started screaming insults; Quatre's cheeks grew warm at just how thoroughly they'd been caught.

He got down the spare sheets by climbing partially on top of the dryer, and very nearly cracked his head open on the unsteady tumble down that he took afterwards. His sneaker kicked against the metal side, creating a hollow bang, and Quatre froze, anticipating either Trowa or Catherine coming out to check on him. The door remained closed, however, and Quatre quickly brushed his teeth before making up the trundle bed in Trowa's room.

At least the room wasn't spinning this time, when he crawled into bed. He left on the lamp and stretched out on his back. Quatre intended to stay awake and wait for Trowa. He intended a lot of things, like that he would be more honest with Catherine now, or he would never say such mean and hurtful things to Trowa again, or that he would only close his eyes for a little while.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Sorry this took some time! I'm going to be extremely busy this month, so expect a bit slower pace with the updates. I'll work my hardest, though, and see what I can get done. Thank you for your patience and devotion!

As for fears this story may end anytime soon; well, is it a good thing I still have plenty of material to cover? Because I do!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	70. Parting Ways

LSC / 02-13-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy: Parting Ways)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 70

**Parting Ways**

* * *

Of all the possible nightmare scenarios Trowa's mind had created for him over the past few hours, being caught by his sister while engaged in a passionate embrace with Quatre had not even registered on his radar. That strange, scattered phone call from Quatre sent him into reckless panic, because why else would he ever be so stupid as to steal Catherine's car keys and sneak out in the middle of the night? And then he'd reacted no better, slipping upstairs to the crash space the three runaways occupied and finding Duo on the couch, alone. In that eternity of time it took to cross the room, drawn by the soft sound of heartbreaking sobs, Trowa's clever mind came up with several explanations, and every single one proved false and far less horrifying than the one that did greet his eyes: Quatre crying in the arms of that tall, handsome stranger from the hospital, Zechs. In his arms, in the bed together, half undressed and – Trowa's heart clenched painfully at the memory.

Worse yet – and could it really have gotten worse? – was his own terrible fury, the way he hauled Quatre heedless of the keen panic that flew into those aquamarine eyes and forced out more tears. Tears that were somehow his fault, even if Quatre refused to tell him why, and everyone knew Trowa was the reason. Zechs and Duo, allied against him, keeping him from Quatre, knowing something he did not.

Yes, of all the horrors of this night, Catherine's sudden discovery ranked somewhere below everything else, but as she drew him into her bedroom for a blistering lecture, Trowa reflected numbly on how exceedingly complicated his life had become. It had been much easier when he merely drifted through it, unconnected and uncaring, waiting for the next crushing wave of depression to drown him.

Catherine pressed the door firmly closed and turned to him. The look on her face was not one he expected but, then again, Trowa felt entirely unsure what sort of conversation they were about to have. A one-sided one, that was for sure; he'd nearly blurted out everything just a few minutes ago, but the old reluctance and fear was back, clutching him down into miserable silence.

"Trowa," she said carefully. "You can't… You can't sneak out like that. Ever. Do you understand? I nearly called the police. I thought you—" She swallowed, misery and fear plain across her face. "I'm not trying to unreasonable. I let you borrow the car when you like, I've let you spend time with Quatre, I try to set a reasonable curfew. I know we don't have much practice at this, living together like this. We've both always been away at school. But you're all the family I have, Trowa."

_Oh, don't cry. Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. _He took a step toward her, but Catherine tossed her head and wiped her eyes and gave a shaky laugh.

"I know it's a silly thing to be upset over. To be honest I'm a little glad; you're finally acting like a teenager. That should make me happy. I've wanted nothing more than to see you be a regular kid all this time. Oh, but, Trowa – how could you not let me know about, er, Quatre? Did you think I wouldn't understand? Did you think I'd be upset? I mean, if that's how you feel." She flushed bright pink. "Well, we can talk about that tomorrow or, I don't know, maybe never. Just – I'm not mad about that, okay? I'm," she hesitated, turning a deeper shade of red. "I'm okay with that. I'm just upset that you've been lying to me and that you snuck out."

Trowa nodded and hoped he looked contrite enough that she'd released him from the impossibly awkward conversation. He heard a bang out in the hall followed shortly by the sound of the sink running.

"It's late, I know. I'll let you go here in a minute, but before I do. Trowa," she said sternly, calling his attention. She'd floundered out of embarrassed and regained her stability. "Trowa, I need you to be honest with me now. There's something more going on here, isn't there? With Quatre."

Trowa tried and failed not to look guilty.

"I wasn't going to say anything, not yet, but… I get you might sneak out to meet with him, but, why bring him back here? Why take that risk?" Her eyes bore into him, suspicion front and center. "If he lives alone, and you're d-dating—" more enflaming embarrassment, but she barreled on without stopping "—why even come here at all? You've clearly been trying to keep this from me. I think I know what's going on here. He's run away, hasn't he?"

Trowa's eyes darted from her to the door and back again. All he had to do was keep her from calling the police just long enough for Quatre to get away.

"I'm not stupid, Trowa."

He couldn't tell if she sounded angry. He could barely hear her over the mad drumming of his own pulse.

"You two have been acting suspicious this entire time. Sure, maybe because you were dating and didn't want me to find out, but, it's more than that. He wears a lot of the same clothes. Sure, you're teenage boys, you do that, but... You might think I wouldn't notice, because you never say anything, but it's not that simple. I know you."

He stared at her, stricken, knowing certainly that his face had to be giving everything away. He should look confused and bewildered, clueless and innocent, like her accusations marked her as the crazy one, not him, and not Quatre. Trowa glanced to the door again. If he shouted right now for Quatre to leave, would the boy hear? Would he listen?

Catherine sighed. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Trowa gave her the barest of nods.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "He had that sprained wrist, the first time. And that black eye a few weeks ago. How did _that_ happen?"

_What? _Trowa very nearly blurted out the word.

"I appreciate that you're trying to help, but if Quatre's run away from home…"

_From home._ Trowa's head spun with a relief so sharp and sudden he felt dizzy with it. He must have given her some hopeless, bewildered look (why couldn't he have looked that way earlier, when it mattered?) because her features inexplicably softened out into a smile.

"I understand," she said kindly. "You should have let me know, right from the start. You don't have keep so many secrets, just because you don't talk."

The kindness in her voice threatened to undo him. He was going to lie to her again. And let her think what? That Quatre had run away from an abusive home life? Trowa recalled the first time he'd ever met Quatre, the very day he arrived at the hospital, and the overwhelming terror that gripped the boy at the mere sight of his father. Impossible tenderness arose in him, now just as it had then, mixed with an equal amount of suspicious anger. Something about that refined, cold-faced man scared Quatre, so maybe Catherine's assumptions held a kernel of truth after all.

"Your birthday is in less than two weeks. You'll be eighteen. I won't have any control over what you do or how you… Well. That's a talk for another day. But I want you to know, Trowa, you can always trust me. I'd never do anything to hurt you. Okay? He can stay here tonight. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."

Trowa nodded, and she released him out into the hall. Trowa stood there for a moment, his heart racing, before heading into his room.

Quatre had left the football lamp on but fallen asleep, curled on his side with Sandy tucked tight under his chin. Trowa felt a wash of emotion so strong his knees nearly gave out. He crossed slowly to the low trundle bed and knelt down to brush his hand through Quatre's bangs. The boy stirred, shifting into Trowa's touch with a sleepy, incoherent mumble. He bowed his head over Quatre and pressed a soft kiss his cheek. He'd figure out something. He'd keep Quatre safe, whatever Catherine's suspicions, whatever the truth; a truth he didn't know. He couldn't be honest with Catherine, even if he could form the words. They simply weren't there to explain. He knew nothing of Quatre, other than he was kind and gentle and understanding, and everything that Trowa's heart desired.

* * *

Fingers combed through his hair, making the fine strands tickle across his forehead. Quatre didn't mind it so much, since it was such a soothing motion, and he felt utterly miserable. A twisted lump of agony had replaced his stomach, his mouth felt like the dessert, and a fearsome pounding across his temples made him moan just as soon as he registered out of unsteady sleep and into bleary awareness. The touch against his hair smoothed down the side of his face and a low, soft voice caressed out his name like velvet. "Quatre?"

"Ugn," managed Quatre. He winced one eye open. Trowa.

Wait. _Trowa?_

Duo, Zechs.

The drinking game.

A lot of crying.

Angry words in a dark parking lot.

_Catherine._

Trowa brushed a hand through his bangs again. "Hi." He sounded oddly shy. They had to be alone, then, if Trowa was talking.

Quatre swallowed uneasily, trying to rasp free enough moisture to speak. Trowa shifted, reached sideways for something, and then presented him with a glass of water. He helped Quatre slowly sit up enough to drink. They were in the living room of Trowa and Catherine's apartment, and he'd been sleeping with his head in Trowa's lap. "What…?"

"I dropped Catherine off at work already. I'm supposed to be driving you to school right now."

"Oh." Quatre felt a sudden rush of heat into his face. Last night! Oh, so many things to be embarrassed about.

"How do you feel?"

Trowa didn't sound mad, at least. Quatre ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "My head hurts."

Trowa wrapped him in a hug. Startled, Quatre stiffened for a brief moment before tipping into the embrace. "We need to talk," Trowa said quietly.

The pain in Quatre's stomach tightened. He jerked his head up and down slightly.

Trowa's hand moved over his shoulder in a calming gesture. "It's about Catherine."

"Oh," he said, in a very tiny voice. He bolted down a gulp of water and felt it unpleasantly settle into the hollow knot of his gut. He only felt worse as Trowa quickly outlined the lecturing he'd received, after Quatre had crawled into bed. Quatre knew a vivid blush had to be crawling over his face when Trowa shared Catherine's assumption with him.

Trowa pressed kisses to the side of his face, the corner of one eye, and the delicate line of Quatre's neck. "What do you want to do?"

"What?" Quatre used every ounce of willpower he possessed not to cringe away from Trowa's earnest affection. He felt exposed, bruised, a flutter of panic driving its way up out of the tangle.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking." Trowa sounded excited now as he paused to shower Quatre with another soft flurry of kisses. "Something Catherine said last night, it reminded me. I'm going to be eighteen soon. My birthday's next Thursday. Why don't we get our own place?"

"What?"

Trowa cupped his face with both hands. "You still have a lot of your birthday money leftover, right? That'll get us a deposit and the first few months, easy. I'll start working at the diner fulltime to cover the rest. Catherine can go back to school this way."

"What?" He felt like a broken record, the needle skipping fitfully over the arrested grooves.

"I never should have let her make all those assumptions last night, but I was just so… Catherine means well, but if she thinks you're in some kind of danger it's going to cause problems. That's just the way she is."

Quatre heard the fondness in Trowa's voice and felt a stab of guilt. "You can't," he whispered. He curled his hands together and took a quick look around the room, seeking out Sandy. "You can't do that to her."

Trowa dropped his hands into his lap. "She's important to me, Quatre, but so are you."

"She's your sister."

Trowa stroked a hand through Quatre's hair. "We're not related."

Quatre felt himself blush. "I know. But she loves you, Trowa. I can't take you away from her."

Trowa gathered him close. "Just… think about it. Okay? You know I'll do anything for you."

"Okay."

"Catherine's going to wonder what's taking me. We should get going."

"Okay." Quatre moved to stand up, thinking he should shower and get dressed for the day.

Trowa caught his hand and just held it, green eyes tipped up to him in supplication. "About last night. Quatre, I'm so sorry for getting mad at you like that. I never should have yelled at you."

"Okay," he mumbled down at the carpet.

Trowa tried to pull him close, to hold him, but Quatre gave the gentlest of tugs and was rewarded with shaky freedom. He couldn't look at Trowa as he fled. It was too much. He found the safety of the bathroom and threw his weight against the door to close it. Quatre shivered, recalling the heated feel of Zechs's hands on his skin, the dizziness awareness of all that tender concern and kindness. And that scar! Just as raw and open as their bewildering attempt at conversation, and Quatre's utter inability to do the right thing when it came to Trowa.

He wrenched the shower on and shed his clothes into a neat pile in front of the sink. Trowa wanted to leave Catherine for him! He couldn't let that happen. And Catherine realizing he was a runaway, but making all the wrong conclusions? Quatre stepped into the steaming blast of water and tried to imagine it washing away all his awkward embarrassment. They just didn't understand. None of them did. Not Zechs, not Duo, not Trowa – what did they really know of him, other than the miserable panicked mess he showed them over and over again.

Quatre closed his eyes and tipped his face into the spray. He wouldn't think about that. He'd promised himself over and over again during the weeks he spent preparing to flee the hospital that he just wouldn't think about it. He was fully committed to action, determined and resolute to make this work. Such thoughts calmed his racing heart and set everything to right. He'd get through it. Quatre balanced everything he knew against all his hopes and came up with a plan.

He found Trowa sitting right where he'd left him, and those striking green eyes were filled with strange, distant sorrow when Quatre returned, changed and carrying his backpack. Quatre went to him and wrapped a fierce hold around him. "Let's go, before Catherine gets any more suspicious."

They rode in uneasy silence. The day held the dreary grey promise of rain, and Quatre shivered with the chill until Trowa flipped on the heat. Trowa parked the car in the alley and made as if to walk him upstairs, but Quatre set a careful hand over his and urged him to be still. "Trowa," he said carefully. "I don't think we should see each other, for a little while. I don't want Catherine… she's too curious. She can't think that about me. That I've run away. It's too close to the truth."

Trowa shook his head. "Quatre, I'm sorry. I'll figure something out. You can tell her—"

"No, Trowa. I'm not a good liar. She'll know."

"But you've done fine so far! About meeting me at school, about your parents? This is my fault. She surprised me, that's all. I never should have agreed with her. I just didn't know what…"

"You couldn't tell her anything, Trowa. I know that. I'm not mad. What I said last night, what we both said last night, it was cruel, but it was the truth. I know you can talk, but I know you're not going to. It isn't fair to me, it isn't fair to either of us. I can't always make your excuses. What I've told Catherine? It's mostly true anyway. My father really is overseas right now, but he has to know I've left the hospital by now. He's going to be looking for me. If we keep this up with Catherine, I'm going to get caught."

Trowa stared at him, stunned. Quatre felt his heart shatter under the gentle agony of his own words, but he had to be strong. He had to stand his ground. This was his plan, and he was going to go through with it. He balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. One final step, the most difficult one, if only he could grab control of the flyaway, panicked doubts chasing themselves madly through his thoughts.

"You have to promise me something, Trowa."

A sudden wariness popped into Trowa's face, bypassing the wounded shock.

"I know," Quatre said quietly. "I know what you're thinking. Do you remember when I called you from the hospital? The day after we met at the mall."

Trowa nodded. He'd gone silent, retreated back into his strongest defenses.

"You told me then you couldn't make that type of promise, so I won't ask it again." He was going to cry. No, he was _not_ going to cry. He could do this. Quatre knew he could do this. He forced one calm breath and then another. "Just a few weeks. October 5th. That's the Saturday right after your birthday. Just promise me you'll be there when I call."

Trowa shook his head, and the broken shards of Quatre's heart stabbed up into his throat. Husky voiced, Trowa asked, "Why are you doing this? Are you still mad at me for last night?"

"No. No, Trowa, of course not! It isn't about that at all."

"Then, whatever it was… with Zechs. When you were crying. Are you mad about that?"

"No. I'm not mad, Trowa. Do I sound mad? Do I look mad?"

Trowa's gaze flicked to him for a moment before dropping down to the console. He shook his head slowly, side to side, as if each inch range of motion caused physical pain.

"I told you… it's just to let Catherine back off for a bit. You don't want me to get caught, do you?"

Again, Trowa shook his head.

Quatre swallowed bitterness and all those little shattered pieces of his heart. "Please trust me, Trowa. I'll fix this. October 5th, okay? I'll call you." He leaned forward, seeking to kiss Trowa goodbye, but the older boy turned his face away sharply. Quatre shrank back in his seat bit down against the sudden tremble of his lips. "Trowa? Promise me."

Trowa shrugged. "Fine."

"Okay," said Quatre cautiously. He blinked back the urge to cry. He was stronger than that and had sworn to himself up one side and down the other that he would not break down, not where Trowa could see him. It'd just make this all the harder. But he had to be firm. He had to stick to the plan. His plans usually worked. It'd gotten him out of the hospital, hadn't it?

He wanted to say something more. He wanted to kiss Trowa and maybe crawl into the backseat with him and do all the other things that made him blush to think about in broad daylight. Grey daylight, he amended, looking out at the threatening rain squall. But Trowa had his face turned away, staring dejectedly out at the same dull sky, and the distance between them hurt Quatre all the more because he'd created it.

What else could he do? Quatre climbed out of the car and stood there for a moment, thinking that Trowa might turn to look at him once last time, or roll the window down to call him back. Either action would undo him just as easily as if Trowa did neither of those things and just left without – the sky opened up, and Quatre bolted for the door before his face could get wet, either from tears or rain.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Sorry for the slow update! I told you this would be a busy month, but I'm still working hard whenever I can spare the time. I've gotten quite a few new readers recently – that's so awesome! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, everyone. It's extremely inspiring.

As for questions about Quatre's back story; yes, he's got one, no, you don't know what it is yet. You'll have to keep reading! He's got a plan, dontcha know. Okay, until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	71. Adrift

LSC / 02-16-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-One: Adrift)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 71

**Adrift**

* * *

Two things occurred to Duo when he reluctantly left la-la-land and returned to the gritty horrible reality of being awake. His first revelation was that hangovers fucking sucked, and he was going to cut Zechs some slack on being bitchy after a morning of drinking. Secondly, there was a tiny blond ball of cute huddled into the small corner of sofa not being occupied by his own disorderly sprawl. Duo drew all his limbs together and blearily stared at Quatre. Sluggish thoughts aligned themselves like a screwy television image until he remembered enough to know that Quatre wasn't supposed to be there.

The kid was out like a light, though, so Duo went about carefully to avoid waking him. Sleeping Beauty Zechs was a shapeless lump on the bed in the back, too. Duo brushed his teeth and drank two glasses of water with barely a breath in between. He felt marginally less awful afterward and spread out a game of solitaire on the floor to bide his time until everyone else woke the fuck up to keep him company.

Zechs, oddly enough, stirred awake next. He came out from behind the screen with his hair all tangled up and once pale blue eye winced shut. Duo motioned him into silence and gestured to the tight bundle that Quatre made on the couch. Zechs waved back in him with something that could have been equal parts _yeah, okay_ and _fuck off, Maxwell_. They'd been getting along so well that Duo extended him the benefit of the doubt.

Zechs slumped to join him on the floor with a slice of bread for his rapidly disappearing breakfast. Duo shuffled his game together and dealt the cards out for War instead. He was saved from a disgraceful defeat by Quatre piping up with a soft, "Morning."

He hadn't even seen the kid wake up, but there he was, peering at them from over the arm of the couch. Dark circles bruised under each blue-green eye, and his mouth turned down in a dreary little frown. Combined with the blond halo of hair, he looked like a sad, fallen angel of some sort. The talk with Trowa, Duo guessed, had not gone blissfully.

"Heya, kiddo. How're ya feeling?"

"My head hurts."

"Classic hangover," Zechs said. "Drink water and eat something. You'll feel better." He caught Duo staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing." That strange mood from yesterday had returned, although at least Zechs wasn't stretched out on his bed like a zombie this time. Duo wasn't sure he could stomach another drink-a-thon pick-Zechs-up adventure. Something must have happened yesterday, or maybe the guy was just a serial depressionist like Trowa, and finally hit low enough on his meds to be feeling it. That was a lovely thought.

And speaking of Trowa, what was with cutie-Q? Duo's eyes followed him as Quatre went over to the kitchenette and fetched himself a glass of water and a slice of bread, mimicking Zechs's minimalist breakfast. Well, it wasn't like Duo ever held back before. Soon as Quatre returned he drawled out, "Soooo." with a meaningful stretch.

Quatre nibbled at the bread. "What?" he asked cautiously, sinking deep into the sofa cushions.

Zechs, of all people, popped up to the little guy's defense. "Duo," he said warningly.

"What? Are you fucking serious? Don't tell me to shut up. I'm not allowed to be curious, is that how it is? Don't act like you know everything. You didn't tell me anything last night, either! Just, 'go to bed Maxwell' – and that's another thing! Using my last name like that, you sound like freaking Wufei."

He wasn't drunk now to miss the visible flinch on Zechs's face at his words. Too bad he'd thrown too many punches to know which one had hit.

Quatre went a strawberry kind of color. "Please don't fight."

"Oh, come on," Duo grumbled. "Totally unfair. I'm way out of the loop here. Cut me some slack, Quatre. You gotta give me something. Am I supposed to believe last night was just a bunch of drunk emotional sobbing for the hell of it?"

"Leave him alone," Zechs growled.

"Hey, I'm just saying. I wanna know what's going on."

"Just shut up for once in your life."

Now Zechs had gone pink. Duo looked between the two of them, both looking equally out of sorts, and let out a theatrical gasp. "No freaking way. What'd Trowa walk in on, exactly? Yeah! Come to think of it, you were…" Duo's eyes tracked over to the bed. Whirl, click, snap, like Relena with the corner pieces on her stupid jigsaw puzzles. "No _fucking_ way."

"Yeah, Maxwell. No fucking way is exactly right. I didn't do shit, so get your mind out of the gutter and stop being an ass. Quatre was just upset, I didn't do anything, so just _drop it_."

Well furious at him was at least better than zoned out misery. Duo figured he deserved a gold star for his therapeutic intervention. Quatre had materialized Sandy out of thin air or, more accurately, fished the bear out from his backpack, and now sat staring at them both with wide-eyed horror. Duo figured that was probably going to cost him his gold star. Damn.

"Yeah, okay, fine. Fine!" Duo threw his hands up for emphasis. "I surrender. Consider my lips sealed, fucking Ziploc style."

Quatre remained on high-alert until enough time passed without Duo tripping through the verbal minefield that he proved, for serious, he wasn't going to press the matter. Maybe the kid was just shaken up after the extremely disastrous ending to the night; Duo still felt a bit jostled up himself from seeing Quatre put through the ringer like he had been. That panic attack, or whatever the fuck it'd been, came in second only to the freak-out withdrawal symptoms earlier in the month as shit he never wanted to see happen again.

They played cards and dicked around until a very late lunch, for which Quatre suggested they go out. It turned out to be raining, so Duo volunteered to run out and pick up a pizza from the place up the block instead. He came back feeling like a hero, especially when Zechs graciously slipped upstairs and stole a dry towel out of the executive gym for his poor soaked braid. They ate greasy pizza and all ended up back down for naps afterward.

Duo half-snoozed with the television on, stretched out head-to-toe with Quatre at the opposite end of the sofa. He was just about to combine a cheesy infomercial with incoherent daydreams about Heero when a sad, sputtering sort of sound jarred him fully awake. He propped himself up on an elbow and gave the room a disorienting once-over. No windows and the lights turned off, so just the glow of the television illuminated all the shadows and – he didn't have to look very far to zero in on the source of the sound.

"Hey."

Quatre startled violently and made quick moves to hide his tears. His shoulders quivered as he buried his face into Sandy.

"Q?" Duo cautiously shifted toward his end of the cushions. "What's up?"

"It's fine," Quatre mumbled. "Just tired."

"Uh-huh. So tired you've gone weepy over it? Like I'm going to buy that." He managed to get close without spooking him. He carefully set his hand against Quatre's back, but the smaller boy flinched out from underneath. Duo quickly pulled his hand away. Sometimes Quatre just got prickly about being touched. He didn't take it personally.

Quatre shuffled his face one way and then the other, wiping the tears away into his bear's fur. "Really, Duo. It's fine."

"Bad fight with Trowa? Come on, cheer up. He adores you. Whatever pissy mood he dropped you off in, I promise, it'll blow over."

Rather than the comforting effect Duo intended his words to have, Quatre's breath hitched with a sudden sob as he curled away into an even tighter ball of misery. "Hey, hey, what's this? Come on, cutie-Q, how bad of a fight did you have? Talk to me, kiddo."

"It's fine!" Heat now filled Quatre's small voice.

Duo rocked back to take inventory of the situation. "Aw, come on. Like I'm not supposed to be worried about you blubbering sorrow into ol' Sandrock's face like that? If you say it's fine, okay, I'm not going to pry but, seriously, the tears way undermine your whole 'don't mind me, just sobbing out something miserable' stance."

Quatre snuffled out what could have been either an agreement or an argument.

Duo sighed and retreated back to his side of the couch. "Okay, deal's a deal. You say it's fine, who am I to disagree? I totally cry my eyes out because everything's peachy keen awesome. It's an extremely fantastic way to assure my friends that absolutely nothing bad happened to me when my enraged mute boyfriend dragged me off for a happy time clap-hour. Yup. Totally happens all the time."

He'd thought at best to get ignored, at worst to make Quatre cry all the harder and completely did not expect the suddenness with which he tipped upright and said, "You're right."

"What?" Only it came out stupider than that.

Quatre shouldered away the damp streaks on his cheek. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Didn't we just establish I was right in how you're clearly _not_ fine?"

Quatre shrugged and settled Sandy into his lap. "No?"

Duo narrowed an eye at him. "I have no idea what's going on here, but I'm gonna go right on out and hazard to guess that I don't like it. Come on. Throw me a bone here, Quatre."

He shook his head back and forth, exposing that little steel core that Duo glimpsed below all his reserve and fearful shyness. Something had Quatre worked up, but he looked resolute in pretending the exact opposite. Sandy's ear found its way into his mouth, and Duo recognized with an uneasy wash of concern the abrupt blank look that faded out Quatre's big blue-green eyes. The same vacant, distant look as when he'd tuned out for two weeks at the hospital, just before they all left.

"Hey, now. Hey! It's what, four, right? I bet Trowa's home by now. Let's go call him."

Quatre shook his head again, but any response he may have offered was overrun by a sudden burst of noise from the bed. "_What_ time is it?"

"Like four."

Zechs stumbled out from around the screen. "Like four, or is it four?"

"Like I don't fucking know, spazz. What's it matter?"

"Shit." Zechs barreled out of the room without explanation.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm a goddamn open book over here compared to you two!"

"Sorry," mumbled Quatre.

"Nah." Duo sighed. "It doesn't matter. So long as you're _reeeeeeally_ okay?"

It made him smile. "Yeah. I'm good."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi, Meiran, it's me. Please don't hang up."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

"Because. I don't know."

"That's a stupid reason."

"Yeah, well. You're putting me on the spot."

"Why are you calling?"

"It's four o'clock. I always call at four."

"I know that. Don't be stupid."

"Well? Don't ask stupid questions. Why do you think I'm calling?"

"Because you're exceedingly annoying! Leave Wufei alone. He doesn't want to talk to you. _Ever_."

"How do you know that? Maybe he's ready to let bygones be bygones."

"You're certifiably retarded."

"Hey. The other day, you had fun, right?"

"No."

"Don't lie. You did have fun. I bought you dinner, we—"

"It was not a date!"

"Did I say it was?"

"You were implying it! I'm done talking. Don't call again!"

"Meiran, wait."

"What?"

"Tell Wufei I'm sorry, okay? Will you tell him that?"

"No. And I'm not going to tell him you called, either."

"What? Why not?"

"Because he doesn't want to talk to you!"

* * *

No matter how he rinsed and spat into the sink, his mouth still tasted like shame and defeat. Or cum and musky flesh, but, whatever, and Zechs popped open the beer he'd brought over for just that reason. Cheap golden swill never tasted so good, and he drained almost half the can in a long, desperate chug. Doc looped the leather belt back through his pants, the metal buckle making a cold, rattling noise. He hated that smug fucking sound. He wanted to hurl the can at the man's face. He wanted to throw up.

"Don't go yet."

"Oh?" said the doctor.

"Yeah." Zechs swished the beer around in his mouth and spat it into the sink. "I wanted to talk to you."

"You sound serious." He twitched a dark brow to match the arrogant twist of his mouth.

Zechs hated that slick, satisfied grin. He balled his hand into a fist and pressed it against the swirling, furious protest in his chest. He should have planned ahead and brought over another beer, not just the one, but Quatre and Duo were both in the room with his mini-fridge cache, so he'd rather die of fucking thirst than go over there. "I guess I am."

"All right," said Doc mildly. "So talk."

"What do you know about multiple personalities?"

Normally Zechs might take some sort of bleak gratification from the startled response his question received. Doc smoothed out his surprise. "So this is a professional talk. Should I be charging?"

Zechs spoke without thinking. "Fuck you."

A slow, indolent smirk spread over the doctor's face. Zechs reflexively jolted back a step, but his back was already against the counter. He batted away a flurry of cold panic.

Doc rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Talk isn't cheap in my case, Zechs. But we're such old friends that I might grant you some pro-bono medical advice out of the goodness of my heart. I suppose you're trying to ask about dissociative identity disorder?"

Zechs nodded.

"Nasty range of diagnoses. What's the matter, Zechs? Thinking you got a case of it?" He spoke lightly, carelessly cruel and teasing as always but underneath lay a forceful curiosity.

"No." Zechs suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Forget about it."

The doctor tapped a finger against his lips, like he always did when he was thinking about a smoke. "Someone you know, then? A little hospital buddy? Not the one the braid, I hope."

"Forget about it, Doc."

"No, I don't think so. I'll tell you what you want to know, but in exchange you tell me what I want to know."

"I thought you said it was free."

Doc laughed. "All right. For free I'll tell you the textbook definition of the disorder. For the details, you'll have to pay."

Zechs downed the rest of the beer and regretted it immediately. He should have nursed it out, if for nothing else than to have the distraction. "What's the price if I just want to know the cure for it?"

The doctor laughed again, and Zechs crumpled the aluminum can carelessly enough to jab his palm with the harsh edges, just as rough and pitiless as the doctor's laugh. "Cure? Lots of talking. I'm in a lucrative career, Zechs. I'm not like other doctors. You can't surgically remove depression or set a cast around post-traumatic stress. Most of my patients are lawyers with too much money. Therapy's trendy. Xanax, Valium, some Ambien or Paxil to mix it up, see my secretary to set up your next appointment; I don't like to get my hands dirty with the major disorders, too much effort."

"Whatever. Forget it."

"Don't look so sad, Zechs. You've barely glared at me once today. Without their fire your eyes are just cold. I don't like it. Now then, I suppose that was rather rude of me after you asked so earnestly. Usually with a heavy-hitter disorder like that you get a whole slew of other crap dragged together with it; anxiety, depression, phobias, suicide, fugue states, so any treatment program is going to focus on just keeping the patient together and functioning long enough to tackle the underlying traumatic cause."

"Oh."

Doc's eyes grew hungry, lean and mean in a way that sent chills through him. "It's not a common disorder. I'd love the opportunity to study it up close."

"No."

"That's my price."

"For what, telling me what a shitty doctor you are? I don't owe you for that. I already knew that."

Doc responded with low, rumbling chuckle. "Well, you were a terrible patient."

Those dark eyes were watching him still. Cruel and taunting, in a way that Zechs hated deep down inside, and his chest grew tight with agony of the thought of spending one miserable fucking second of his worthless life in that room trapped by those eyes. "We're done," he said. The words seemed to belong to someone else. He either had to say them or die trying. "I'm leaving."

"You're the one who wanted to talk."

"No. I mean. We're _done_. It's over. I'm leaving."

Doc arched a brow at him. "You're serious."

"Yeah."

"You said that before."

"Yeah." Zechs chucked the empty can into the trash. "And I meant it."

The man's gaze drifted to the leather cuffs around Zechs's wrists. "Did you?"

Rather than answer, Zechs gathered every small shred of dignity he had left and stormed from the room. When he burst in on Duo and Quatre, they both jumped a foot in the air. Quatre even let out a small squeak, his big eyes going even rounder at the sight of him. He should have thought to smooth out his hair; Doc always tangled his fingers through it and worked up a disorderly snarl. He should have thought about the puffy just-fucked look to his mouth, but there was nothing but time to fix that, and he didn't have a moment to lose.

"Get your shit. We've leaving."

"What?" Duo stared at him. "Where've you been?"

Zechs marched behind the screen and kicked the entire basket of his laundry over, spilling the contents to the floor. Last time he'd been too drunk and stupid to take anything with him. Leaving in a hysterical mess, turning back up without explanation months later with a set of wide-eyed innocent lambs in tow; no wonder Doc always treated him like an idiot. Meiran was right, how had she put it? Certifiably retarded? Girl was a firecracker – fuck, Zechs felt something suspiciously like a lump in his throat at the sudden memory of Treize, smiling up at him under a hazy street light with lips parted. No, Wufei, staring at all those movie posters, like if he just looked at them long enough he could remember which movie he'd come to the theater to see and no one would ever guess how lost he felt.

Zechs snatched his red hoodie out of the pile. It was starting to get cool at night. He'd want this. He put it on; one less thing to carry. His black jeans, he liked the way they fit. The Flaming Skulls concert shirt didn't fit right anymore, he'd gotten taller over the summer, so he tossed it toward the bed. Doc could keep it, jerk off into it if he wanted, just so long as Zechs never had to see him again. Maybe he'd hitch a ride out of town. Maybe he'd take a dive off a fucking bridge. Maybe he should calm the hell down and go tell the sheep he was serious; he could hear them whispering now_ what do you think that was abou_t_?_ Duo called him a drama queen. Quatre shushed him but giggled.

Sorting out which clothes he would take from those he could stand to leave behind didn't take long. He was sure to grab the khaki pants and blue dress shirt for Sunday, fuck if he wanted to try stealing anything that nice. Those stores always used the big fat ink tags, the ones that ripped holes in the fabric when you did finally managed to bust them free. He shoved the smaller stuff in the big front pocket of his sweatshirt, fit what he could into his pants' pockets and the pockets of the dark jeans and the khakis, and bundled whatever wouldn't fit together into a fat wad.

The act of packing calmed him, somewhat. Gave him something to focus on, at least, other than a driving sense of panic and that weird throat-lump sensation. Clothes and possessions suitably gathered, Zechs went to take inventory of the fridge. One beer for the road, to steady his nerves and drown out that fucking lump – he cracked open the can and made short work of the liquid courage inside. He'd swing by a liquor store and get something stronger, just as soon as he got the sheep moving. They both just sat there on the sofa watching him.

"I said, get your stuff." Zechs lobbed the empty can toward the trash can. It bounced off the rim and rolled across the floor. Fuck it. That left only left two trailer park specials and the leftover bitch beer he'd bought for Duo, mostly as a smart-ass prank. He grabbed both cans and left the pink bottled crap behind with all the food. Maybe he'd take the bread, at least, just the heels and two slices left. He wrapped the tail end of the bag around it and found enough space in the bulging pocket of his hoodie.

They were still just staring at him. If this took any longer he'd have to leave them. Each second that ticked by made it all the more likely he'd lose his nerve, or that Doc would come looking for him, or that goddamn stupid lump – Zechs dug a thumb under the aluminum tab. "Are you fucking deaf?"

Duo spoke. "You okay, Zechs? You look kinda… funny."

Quatre looked at the bundle of clothes. "Where are you going?"

Zechs shrugged. "Anywhere that isn't here."

"Wait, you're serious?" Duo flicked the tip of his braid across his lips. "What happened? We'd run out of money for rent or something?"

Zechs laughed and was pleased at how sharp and bitter and cruel it came out. It made them both flinch, the two little lambs for the slaughter, so innocent and stupid. He wasn't going to be able to drink the whole can and convince any decent sales clerk he could handle a fifth of vodka, even with the fake I.D. Fine. He'd leave it there on the counter. He abandoned the other can as well. Wasn't worth the hassle. No, the queasiness was settling out, he really could drain the rest of the beer. Wasn't more than half a can left anyway.

"Zechs?" Quatre's voice, soft and gentle. "What's wrong?"

"You can pay Doc the rent if you want, Duo. He'd like that. Let your hair down first, or he'll fuck your braid all to shit trying to get it undone. He's a shrink, not a surgeon, hands aren't steady." Maybe he shouldn't have drank so quickly. He wanted to lie down, but the bed was quicksand, the room full of poison trying to stifle him. Zechs could still feel the doctor's fingers through his hair, that calm and level voice talking, always talking, never shutting up and taking advantage of the fact that Zechs couldn't talk back.

"What?" Duo hopped off the couch. "Wait, _what_?"

"You heard me." Zechs looped his hand through the knot he'd tied out of two sleeves. Made a nice handle that way. He had enough experience running away to know some clever tricks. His eyes made one final circuit of the room. Whatever he may have forgotten couldn't be that important anyway. "Or send Quatre if you want. Take turns for all I care. Whichever one of you is better at swallowing. You know what?" He snatched the final can of beer off the counter. "I'll take it to go."

Duo might have said something in respond. He always had one final thing to say, no matter what the circumstances, but Zechs didn't bother to find out. He was already out the door, in the hall, when a sudden, brilliant thought occurred to him – the exam room was unlocked, Doc nowhere to be found, must have thought that Zechs wouldn't think of this, or wouldn't care. He wedged the perspiration-slicked can into the tightly packed clothes and set the whole bundle of the counter for a moment to free his hands.

Q-tips, tongue depressors, latex gloves, the stethoscope; Zechs slammed the drawer shut with his hip. Some plastic cups, a box of sharps, cotton balls, and on to the next cabinet before the sheep thought to come looking or the wolf came prowling. Bingo. Jackpot. Little orange prescription bottles, was Doc really so stupid to just leave these here? No, of course not, they were empty and the paper labels half-torn or faded, and Zechs scattered them with a disorderly sweep of his hand. Next cabinet was locked. That was more like it.

He pulled and tugged and slammed his palm into the cheap particle board. Wrong way to go about it, he realized. Zechs got a nail underneath the edge, strained, and pinched the hell out of some skin but managed enough brute strength and self-destructive determination to burst the whole stupid cabinet door off the hinge. His hand was bleeding, the crimson drops flecking across the counter as he shook out the pain.

Payback, he told himself. Rent refund. Doc overcharged. The bottles rattled. He had to abandon the bread and a pair of socks to make room. Still too much rattling, he sounded like a goddamn gumball machine or something. Couple of cotton balls shoved into each of his pilfered trio of little orange cylinders of petty revenge fixed that problem. If only a couple of cotton balls could fix all his problems. It didn't stop the bleeding. He'd scraped the knuckles of his hand raw.

Oh, well. Zechs grabbed his clothes and left. He remembered the cold beer can only as it fell out on the stairs and bounced to the bottom. He'd have to abandon the poor bastard; it was too shook up and worthless.

The sheep were in the alley, bleating at the sight of him, and Zechs tried to growl to scare them off. No, the tiger's smile, that was the one to use, all mean and careless, growling was just going to make them think he'd be the sheepdog again. He needed a new metaphor. He needed to be leaving, before…

Quick, long strides. Somehow they were keeping pace. Quatre was at more of a run than a walk. Duo caught his arm, and Zechs nearly punched him right across the face in retaliation.

"You! Hold the fuck still for a second!" Duo made to grab Zechs's arm again, to hold him in place.

Zechs shoved Duo back a step instead.

Duo got right back in his face. "Hey! So clearly I don't have the first fucking clue what's been going on with you this whole time, and, shit! Get back here!"

Zechs took off again. They followed him. Not sheep, ducklings, Quatre's hair was even the right color, which made Duo the ugly duckling. They needed to _stop_ following him. There was a liquor store, but it advertised the top shelf brands and a man in a suit went inside as Zechs watched. No, he'd just get I.D. taken away, and then where would he be? Right back to being Milliard Peacecraft, that hopeless piece of shit, and he needed to find a –

Duo again, insistent. "Yo! Big blondie! Wait the fuck up, man! Let's talk about this for a second."

Zechs jerked his arm away hard enough to clock Duo in the jaw with the gesture. "Leave. Me. _Alone_."

The bus was a bad idea, it'd just make him a target if the ducklings wanted to keep following. Before he could start walking again, stupid fucking _Quatre_ caught him around the waist. In a tackle that was more like a goddamn _hug_.

"Zechs! We're sorry! Don't run off!"

_Oh, son of a bitch._ It was just like after the drinking game all over again, except now Zechs was the one three sheets to the wind on rapidly consumed cheap beer and a brutal rush of – _what, Milli, emotion? You gonna have a breakdown, right here on the goddamn sidewalk?_ He couldn't just slug Quatre off, not like he could Duo, because Quatre had cried so brokenly for that mute boyfriend of his and, Jesus, if Zechs didn't fucking wish that someone just once ever would cry like that for him, rather than tell him to fuck off and stop calling.

He couldn't let go of his anger. He was too afraid what else might fly free. "Let me go, Quatre." Shit, that didn't sound mad at all, it sounded downright broken. _Shit, keep it together, Milli_ – Treize's voice, curling out the sounds with a smile. No, _not_ Treize, but it was all the same, the inky hair and almond-shaped black eyes and – Zechs twisted to try and escape the gentlest of restraints. "Let me go!"

"Not until you agree to settle the hell down! Dammit, Zechs, we're in this together, aren't we? Wasn't that the rule from day fucking one?" Duo, again. Much easier to stay mad at Duo, the boy might as well paint a big red target on his face. A matador's red cape, that's what he needed, and Zechs gladly focused in on that so he could ignore the warm press of Quatre around the tight ball of black ache in his chest.

"Fine! Jesus! Just let me go."

Quatre backed off, his face swirling with a wild blush. He started to say something, but Duo jumped right over top of him with a fresh burst of noise. "So no more crash space, obviously! Done and fucking done, good riddance, all that – my turn, though, right? Quatre covered the hotels, you, well, whatever, let's not go there, holy crap I'm an idiot, shut up, Maxwell – Right! My turn to provide shelter."

The ducklings turned into the shepherds and he was sheep. Duo found them bus heading west, and Quatre dutifully plugged a handful of change into the slot for the three of them. They sat on either side of him, too, like if they didn't Zechs might pry the window open and jump out. Not a bad idea, he certainly had worse. Without the forward momentum of his own furious steps he just felt tired, and maybe a little muddled from all the cheap beer trying to sort itself out in his stomach. He shouldn't have forsaken the can he dropped. A little time and patience and it might have been okay.

Quatre kept looking over sideways at him, like maybe he wanted to say something. Finally he did muster some timid little soft voice and say, "Is your hand okay?"

He had both of them folded over the bundle in his lap. The scraped up mess of his knuckles had begun to crust over with bloody scabs forming around the all the torn skin. "Sure."

And that was the end of the conversation. Even Duo realized it was better to shut up for once; he didn't say a word the entire trip. They transferred buses one time and then walked the last couple blocks. Zechs spotted a suitably rundown liquor store and shook off both his trapped escorts with a growling burst of anger. The clerk barely glanced at the date on fake license. Zechs found room for the bottle with the rest of his crap and rejoined the kiddies.

"Is he going to be okay with this…?" Quatre whispered. He clutched at Duo's sleeve as the braided idiot reached for the buzzer.

"Sure! Why not?" Duo grinned and pressed his thumb over the button.

After a long pause, Heero Yuy's flat snarl broke through the static. "Yes."

"It's me! Let me up."

The door unlatched. They piled into the elevator for the slow crawl up to the sixth floor. Quatre again, voice wobbly with something anxious and unsure, "You're not going to tell him…?"

"He'll find out soon enough. Besides, d'you really want to stand out in the street and explain?" Duo shrugged. "Zechs, you're going to have to look the slightest bit more cheery for this to work."

"Fuck you."

"That's the spirit!" Duo said. The two of them exchanged a look, like Zechs might have gone fucking blind between floors four and five.

The elevator slid open, and Duo led the way down the hall. He barely touched the door when it jerked open. Heero stood barefoot in a white undershirt and faded jeans, staring back out at them. His dark blue eyes went immediately to Duo's face before sliding sideways to take in first Quatre and then Zechs. "What?" he snapped.

"Hi, Heero!" Duo grinned. "Surprise sleepover! Let us in, will ya?"

Heero glowered menacingly but, surprising enough, took a few steps back to clear the doorway. "You didn't call."

"Sure I did. Last night, remember? And if I'd called, what would have been the end result? Me over here, right?" Duo breezed into the apartment. "Might as well save myself the thirty-five cents, right? What's for dinner?"

"Tuna casserole."

"Delicious! Did you remember to set the oven timer?"

"No. It's done. I already ate."

"Oh. Reheat some? For Quatre and Zechs, too. We hadn't eaten yet. Okay, so, how do you want to divvy it? For tonight I guess Little Blondie on the sofa and Big Blondie in the spare bed; that seems fair, given everything. I'll bunk up with Heero, I guess. That okay with you, cutie-Q?"

"Duo."

"Heero? Come on, buddy, three servings on some plates in the microwave for, like, a minute each or whatever. You need help with it?" Duo brushed past him into the kitchen.

"Duo. What are you doing?"

"Getting dinner. I'm hungry."

"No, I—" Heero looked first at Duo and then at Zechs and Quatre. The most amusing thing Zechs had seen all day was the utterly bewildered expression on Heero's face as he tried to make sense of the sudden home invasion. It was fleeting, just a brief twist to his features before he gamely recovered his glowering disapproval. "Why are they here?"

"What?" Duo poorly faked surprise, like maybe he'd forgotten about the two extra people in the room. "Well. We need a place to stay. If you don't want Quatre on the sofa that's cool, I guess, he can double up with Zechs or take the floor in there or whatever. It's my room, right?"

"What?"

"You said so. You said it's mine." The look Duo gave him was clearly a challenge.

"Um," said Quatre. Everyone ignored him.

For a long moment, Heero just stared at Duo with his brows drawn together in a glare that was so tight it seemed almost painful. Duo broke the staring contest and pulled a large glass baking dish out of the refrigerator. As if the matter were already settled, he calmly pulled down three plates and dug out a fork to sloppily transfer over the portions. Since his back was turned, Duo missed the sudden shift in Heero's expression. Zechs saw every stupid twitch of fondness and soft tenderness as he opened his mouth to say, "Okay, Duo."

They'd already announced the sleeping arrangements, so Zechs decided he was fine with a gut full of alcohol for supper and stormed off to his room for some peace and quiet. It was a good thing he picked the right bedroom, and it was obvious he had; garish movie posters and accumulated clutter, weird and empty somehow despite all the mess. He resisted the urge to slam the door. It'd only draw their attention. He likewise resisted the urge to upend the entire desk and maybe punch a hole in the wall or maybe just let go of his anger and see what else fell free, but he hadn't cried in years and didn't want to start now so he just sat on the bed and drank until he forgot what color eyes he was supposed to be thinking about.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you very much for all the kind reviews! I'm just as eager as all of you to see how things turn out for everyone. I hope you're enjoying the story. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	72. Sketches

LSC / 02-18-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Two: Sketches)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 72

**Sketches**

* * *

Heero's voice came as a deep rumble against Duo's ear, pressed up against him as they were in the narrow bed. "You can't be here."

"Nuh-huh. I'm already here. Means I can be." Duo threaded his hand through Heero's and felt all the rough calluses across the palm. He drew it close and studied the dark line of oil that always seem to remain under his neatly trimmed nails no matter how often Heero washed them. Round pale burn scars from hot grease flecked a lazy line across the back of Heero's hand up toward his wrist.

"No. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" Duo guided Heero's hand into the loose mess his hair, all wavy and crinkled after being freed from its braid. Heero obediently began to brush his fingers through the long strands. He hit a tangle and worked it through with impossible tenderness. Heero'd always liked his hair.

"I don't know."

"Well. Are you trying to say you don't want me here?"

"No," Heero said immediately. He wrapped his other arm around Duo and pulled him close. "I didn't say that. I meant to say, you _shouldn't_ be here."

Duo tucked his head underneath Heero's chin. "Ah. Why?"

"You know why."

"Mnm. I don't think I do."

"We talked about this." Heero kept working his hand through Duo's hair in smooth, gentle strokes.

"About what?"

"Duo." Soft but stern.

He sighed. "Don't ruin this, Heero. Just for tonight let me pretend none of that matters. Just let me lay here and think it's all gonna be okay."

"I don't understand."

"Yeah. I know, Heero. I know you don't. I'm telling you to shut up, but in a nice way."

"Oh." Heero's lips fell against his forehead, tickling aside the brush of his bangs. "Okay. Goodnight." Duo wasn't tired, but he could tell Heero was by the thick, drowsy way he spoke.

Heero pulled his hand through Duo's hair until the motion grew slower and smaller and finally dropped off entirely as he settled down into sleep. Duo stayed curled around him, statue still and quiet, content to be lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath a thin white shirt. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be there, warm and safe and happy for the first time in a long time, since that too brief and too brutal night in April. The rain outside now was just a thin drizzle, and the only thunder the quiet rumble of Heero's voice, now silenced, and Duo regretted a lot of stupid stuff as he lay there unable to sleep.

The worst part of insomnia was always the stir-crazy loneliness of the very late night, and he fell into utter boredom after an hour or two of just watching Heero sleep. In infinitesimally small movements he unwound from Heero and tried to slip from the bed. He was almost free when Heero's hand closed over his wrist, drawing him back. He slurred out a groggy sound like "Duon't," equally his name and something pleading.

Duo slid back into the bed and pressed Heero to the pillows before he could rise up all the way. "Shhh... s'okay, Heero. Don't wake up."

Forever stubborn, even when half asleep, Heero tugged him back into place and grumbled, "'M not awake."

"Uh-huh," Duo soothed. "Sure."

So he watched Heero sleep and tried to keep himself entertained with nothing more than his thoughts, which were wild and frantic and rather stupid. He silently recited the entirety of Ninety-Nine Bottles to himself, just to see if he could, and proved somewhere around the twenty-third bottle of milk (he didn't want to think about beer, not after the hangover this morning) he realized it was a dumb fucking song for a reason. He cautiously weaseled his hands free and spent a few minutes trying to braid some section of Heero's hair together, but the intended victim kept shifting around, and Duo grew fearful about waking him again, so he that idea die.

He wasn't really sleeping when Heero woke up, but it startled him nonetheless when the body beneath him suddenly began to shift away. Bare grey light came in through the window; not really sunrise, not really night anymore. Duo started to fake a yawn, but it turned into a real one as he spared Heero the awkward trouble of trying to extradite himself from the bed without "waking" him.

"Go back to sleep," Heero ordered, crawling over Duo to reach the edge of the bed. He pre-empted the alarm clock, turning it off before the thing even had time to squeal. He paused and settled a hand against the side of Duo's face.

Duo tried to look innocent and sleepy against the sudden weight of Heero's attentive study. "Were you asleep?"

"Uh," said Duo. "Kinda."

"You're not sleeping." In one of those not-questions that Heero was so unnervingly good at.

"I said kinda!" Like that sort of defensive tone was going to fool anyone, least of all Heero. Duo sat up and tried for a smile. "I slept a lot yesterday. And took a nap."

Heero tucked loose strands of hair behind Duo's ear and made each light touch a caress. "How long have you been without your medicine?"

"Oh, Christ. It's too early for this. Go to work, Heero."

"You don't sleep when you're…" Heero paused, the dark blue of his eyes a rough midnight in the hazy not-morning.

Duo rolled his eyes. "Fucking crazy?"

"Manic," Heero corrected.

"Right, you've been reading the psych books. Argh, just, go to work, Heero! Leave me alone about it. Didn't I tell you last night not to ruin this?"

Heero dropped his hand. "I don't understand."

"Yeah, fucking deja vu. I know. Let's not have a fight, okay? Please, 'ro?"

Heero rose up from the bed and went to shower. Duo curled his knees to his chest and looped his hands around his ankles. Great. He should have lied about it. He should have squeezed his eyes shut and made Heero backflip off the bed to avoid going over him.

Heero didn't take long in the shower. He never did. Not as much hair to wash, unlike Duo, who always had to race against the hot water to get everything lathered up and rinsed at the hospital. His first stint there, in between the school semesters when someone finally thought to examine his head and found it full of crazy, he spent the entire time with his hair greasy from never being quite clean enough. And no singing either, Heero probably didn't appreciate the brilliant acoustics a shower stall provided.

Duo watched from the bed as Heero dressed in his mechanic's uniform. He'd run a comb through the damp snarl of his hair to little effect, but the note on the mirror told him to do it, so Heero did. An indulgent smile spread over Duo's face, but he was quick to smother it into a scowl before Heero could see. Wait, wasn't his argument that they shouldn't have a fight right before went to work? Duo let the smile pop back on to his face.

Heero disappeared back into the bathroom and came back out carrying Duo's hairbrush. For a moment Duo thought maybe Heero thought to use it himself, stepping up the assault on his hair in an attempt to tame it, but Heero crossed to the bed with a purpose. He sat on the edge and stared at Duo. "Turn around."

"Why?" But even as he questioned the command, Duo obeyed.

Heero drew together the long fall of chestnut waves and moved the brush through it with the same gentle strokes as the night before. The hairbrush proved more effective than his fingers, however, and he'd even thought to dampen the bristles so as not to crackle up a bunch of static. Heero carefully drew the hair into three bundles and draped one over each of Duo's shoulders.

Duo chuckled and kept still, letting Heero work. "You never get the braid right."

Heero gave the middle bundle one final smoothing before setting the brush to the side. "I want to try."

"Yeah? Okay. Go for it."

Heero worked in silence. Duo couldn't see his face, and when he tried to turn his head he got a quiet reprimand to hold still. He could imagine Heero's tight look of concentration even without seeing it. Brows drawn together, laser beam eyes, making even the corner of his tongue poking into his cheek, the way he got whenever a particular bit of wire and circuits gave him trouble.

Heero took twice as long as he would have and when the braid was done, Duo ran his hand over it to feel the lumps and crooks and stray hairs. "Thanks. It's perfect."

Heero scowled. "You don't mean that."

"Sure I do. I didn't say you did a good job, just that I like it. Thanks for trying. You'll get better, with practice."

Heero leaned forward and set a firm hand on his leg, just above the knee. "So will you."

"What?"

"Get better." Laser beam eyes. Oh, good. Now Duo was the impossible bit of circuits.

"With practice?" He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed cruel, with Heero so earnest, but Duo couldn't keep the doubtful scorn from his voice.

"With help."

Duo jerked his leg out from under Heero's hand. "Stop it. Goddammit, Heero, every time you're nice to me it always ends up the same. Go to work. Leave me alone. I'll see you later."

Heero hesitated, like maybe he was going to say something more, but Duo reached over and tilted the clock so Heero could see. It was unfair, using Heero's painful devotion to punctuality against him like that, but it got the desired effect. Heero left without another word, and with his stretched concentration Duo could just barely hear him rustling around in the kitchen for a bit before the front door opened and closed.

Duo indulged boredom for about three minutes before beginning to snoop around Heero's room. Oh, sure, Heero probably wouldn't like that, but he wasn't there to object. He'd always been prickly about his stuff, even back at the academy. He'd nearly hauled off and punched Duo the first time, when he came back from class and found Duo taking inventory of his closet.

Three long plastic tubs of crap lay underneath the bed, where any normal red-blooded male would have hidden guns, blow, or porn. Duo supposed that, for Heero, a storage bin of broken appliances was a bit like pornography. The closet was just as boring as he suspected; fashion had never been among Heero's budding interests. He saved the nightstand for last, and felt a traitorous bubble of guilt work free of his heart when his hand closed over the knob. He knew what had to be in this drawer: that stupid notebook. All those lists.

There were several notebooks. A graveyard of them. The top most one he recognized as the current list notebook, spiral and well-worn, and he set it aside for the moment. The next one was a black and white composition notebook with Heero's name printed across in bold, square lettering, just beneath the Whitmore Academy crest. Someone had gone over the school name in pencil, helpfully doodling a few anatomical anomalies and a small stick figure on a noose dangling off the Y. Someone being Duo, of course.

The front part of the notebook contained Heero's notes from that literature class, the one they'd had together, since Heero was stuck repeating it and, judging by the rigid content of his writing, just barely passed the second time around. The back half, though... Duo spread the notebook across his knees.

_Reasons Why I Should Kiss Duo Maxwell _included_ his braid, his eyes, his smile, his laugh_ and, the final two items on the list,_ he wants me to_ followed by _I want to_._ Reasons Why I Should Not Kiss Duo Maxwell _was just a blank page.

So that's what Heero had been writing, that time in detention. Soon as the teacher's back was turned, he'd spun around in his seat and smacked Duo with his lips, right across the mouth, hard enough to smash their teeth together and break the skin. Clumsy, forceful, earnestly fucked up - in short, so typically Heero it made Duo grin to remember.

Duo flipped the notebook pages through a couple more lists, which were boring because they were not about him. There was one more notebook left in the drawer, and the sight made Duo's blood run cold. Abandoning the composition book, Duo reverently lifted the artist's sketchbook and placed it across his lap. _Property of Duo Maxwell, _right there across the front, and a veritable army of stick figures, so that from further away it seemed like just a swirling mass of dark patterns against the tan over. Up close the drawings sorted themselves out into an array of acts both bland and obscene Figures tumbled from the sketchbook brand lettering like lemmings, fucked on top of the cheesy watercolor illustration contained within the oval logo, shot each other, walked tightrope lines, and one elaborate set toward the bottom showed a devil-horned stick figure lashing whips over the backs of students huddled into their desks. He'd done that one during an especially dull student assembly.

Duo cautiously opened the sketchbook, like maybe it was going to explode. First drawing, his room at the academy. Heero's fucking blueprint for the bedroom next door, no doubt, right down to the ugly lamp, although the drawing was just pencil and failed to capture the precise shade of Exorcist-puke green. The next few pages were small face studies of several teachers and a few of the students, including Heero, when he was just the weird stone-faced kid who sat next to him in English. Duo went deeper into his sketchbook, turning up more studies of Heero, a few boring landscapes from the school roof, and that stupid bird who flew into the library window and nearly died. He'd crouched outside in the snow and sketched the damn thing for twenty minutes thinking it was dead, before it finally shook itself off and flew away, so he'd never be able to finish the drawing. Selfish bastard.

Toward the back now, Heero scowling at his physics homework - probably mad that Duo was sitting there sketching him and not helping him study. Heero again, sitting in the library with the rare, soft look of a daydream on his face. Another Heero - geez, fifteen-year-old Duo, creeper much? - bundled up against the cold with those god-awful earmuffs.

He knew what he was looking for, but it still jumped off the page at him like a coiled snake. Duo nearly threw the sketchbook across the room in a fury. The stupid series of drawings that started all his trouble. Charcoal sketches, the lines thick and heavy with a languid sense of sorrow to match the sad-sack stupid look on his face. Self-portaits, four of them, his first and last attempts. He'd drawn them from down in that deep dark well, the crumbling downside to all the high-flying good moods. Four of them, each one...

Three of them.

Three of charcoal drawings of a sad boy with darkness all around and in his eyes forever, and then nothing but blank pages after that.

Three drawings, and one small scrap of paper clinging to the wire loops to show where the fourth must have been.

Oh, right. That made sense. The psychologist had the fourth one. Duo remembered her showing it to him like it was a fucking suicide note, asking in that sweet syrupy voice what he thought about it and if maybe he'd like to draw something for her, like he was eight fucking years old and needed to show on the bear where the bad man touched him. _It's the crazy, bitch, and it's all in my brain fucking every last part of me, and I'll never be rid of it, thanks_.

And Duo also remembered how he had assumed they must have found the whole sketchbook. He expected that not-dead bird at any moment, first at the clinic where they figured out the crazy and gave it a name, and then later at the hospital where his hair was always too greasy because the hot water never lasted long enough. Where he crawled out of the well and just lay there with his wings clipped, lay there on the flat that was neither up too high or down too low and felt just like that stupid bird.

But they hadn't had the bird drawing to show him, or any of the other three self-portraits, for that matter. He thought they had it, because they had that one self-portrait to show him and ask him if he wanted to talk about (_no, he didn't, thank you very much, and get the fuck out of my sketchbook_). The book hadn't been in his room when they sent him back to the academy, either.

Heero had the sketchbook, right here in his nightstand drawer. Every single stupid drawing except that fourth one that was missing and the little rip of paper to show where it had been.

Memories stirred up out of his time in the well, down in that deep dark hole, with Heero peering down at him from the flat land up top. He'd been nice to him again, trying to throw a rope down that well, a rope made out of extra desserts and sneaking around after lights out to try and meet him, but Duo slept and slept because he just felt so tired all the time. _You didn't meet me on the roof_, Heero would say to him. That's was their place to sit and watch the stars together, night after night. _I fell asleep_, he'd say back, if he even talked at all, because sometimes, down in that well, it seemed like too much effort to shout up toward the top. _What are you drawing?_ Heero had asked, when he never asked before, maybe because Duo hadn't been looking at him or the sky or a bird too stupid to know what was real and what was just a pane of glass keeping him out in the cold while everyone else got to be warm. He'd been drawing himself, down in that well.

The sketchbook dropped from his lap. He couldn't hold on to it anymore. He couldn't hold on to anything. Numb, numb, numb, like the freezing rain of April, only the rumbling thunder was now the roaring beat of his own heart, and it hurt so much worse than anything else.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I know this one isn't as long as the last chapter, but hopefully the quick update will appease you! Enjoy and thank you for reviewing!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	73. Swing, Swing

LSC / 02-20-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Three: Swing, Swing)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 73

**Swing, Swing**

* * *

"Hello."

"Hey. It's me."

"You sound terrible."

Zechs bit back his first response, which was flippant, and instead rasped out a non-committal, "Yeah." Anything other than the harsh silence of a hang up was more progress than he thought to achieve. He pressed his forehead to smooth metal side of the phone. No enclosed booth, just a hunk of metal and plastic bolted to the brick side of a rundown convenience store. Zechs stared down at the grey cement and thought of several things other than puking. He'd done enough of that for the first part of his miserable day, curled around Heero Yuy's toilet with nothing to offer besides the water he kept trying to drown out the hangover with.

"I want you to know," Meiran said, all prim and stiff like she was doing him a favor by existing. "That I will always be the one to answer the phone."

"What?" Oh, Christ, that slick tickling sensation in the back of his throat had returned. He never should have tried walking. He should have just used Heero's phone, to hell with eavesdroppers.

"Good-bye," she said. She sounded nice about it, like when the boy had to put the shotgun in Old Yeller's face and pull the trigger, and Zechs cried right there at the summer library kids' program because he was just a stupid six-year-old kid who didn't know any better.

Zechs stood there holding the empty phone to his ear until it started to make loud noises that cracked open his tender skull and let out all the agony. He somehow found the energy to set the receiver back into the cradle and start walking, all without puking or fainting. Despite the autumnal cool of the late afternoon, a sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead and made his hands clammy. What had Meiran meant by that, always being the one to answer the phone? His head hurt too much to think about it. Calling had been a dumb idea anyway; what was he going to try to say, when his words had already proven worthless? Sorry, Wufei, for not telling you that Maxwell could have been the one calling you all this time. Sorry, Wufei, that Duo had never thought to call, or find out where you were, or... _Sorry, Wufei, that I'm not Duo Maxwell._

Zechs braced a hand into his knee and made a few dry heaves, right there on the sidewalk. There just wasn't anything more to give.

* * *

They probably made an exceptionally cheerful welcoming committee for Heero. He just stood in the doorway of his apartment and glared at them. Duo stared right back, torn between throwing the entire deck of cards into Heero's face with a wailing, overly dramatic _how could you_, and being exceedingly grateful for anything other than Zechs's brooding silence and Quatre's shy reserve.

They were seated in a circle in the middle of the bare living room, with Zechs tipped up against the back of the sofa because he still looked pale and a bit peaky and just about wretched as he'd sounded that morning puking in the bathroom. Awkward didn't begin to cover the silence that shaped up between them, with Duo torn between apologizing and dreading the follow up conversation about why that was the case. Zechs seemed content to be just as quiet as Quatre, all the murderous black rage of yesterday fizzled down into a damp and dreary solitude. Duo'd suggested the card game more as an exercise in masochism rather than any true optimism it would be fun. He'd need to convince Heero to rescue a busted up television or something.

And then there was Heero, already inside the apartment and heading for the shower. The grease and oil streaked across his face made him look wild and dangerous, and normally Duo would tease him, or maybe request he stay all ruffled for a bit longer rather than get clean. After finding the sketchbook however, Duo wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Sure, his gut impulse had been to indulge in all his fierce and furious ability to pitch a screaming fight the very instant Heero walked in the door. He'd nearly taken the bus down to the autobody shop and ripped Heero to literal and figurative pieces right there.

He'd sat frozen there for hours, until the sun popped up into the horizon, and he heard Zechs wake up and begin his miserable devotion to the toilet. He'd gone out to find Quatre also awake and making toast with butter and sugar and cinnamon for everyone. The two of them made him remember oh, yeah, it wasn't just about him anymore. Quatre didn't have anywhere else to go. Duo tried asking, all innocent and cheerful, if he planned to meet Trowa later, and Quatre's flinching sadness had been more than enough answer. The kid didn't want to talk about it, but clearly something was up, and he looked so lost and unsure that Duo knew for sure Quatre had no one else to go.

And Zechs, well, he seemed to know the streets and where to go, but Duo knew for fucking sure that it wasn't going to be anywhere nice. Now that he knew the price, he couldn't let that happen, not just so he could throw a hissy fit at Heero and drag up a bunch of old painful memories. Heero knew the three of them were all on the run. He probably didn't care about Quatre and Zechs, which was good in that he wouldn't bother to turn them in, but surely the only reason he tolerated extra guests was that Duo had blindsided him with it. That's the way it had to be with Heero. You couldn't give him a choice, or he'd either make the wrong decision or spend all damn day making a list about it.

Heero showered quickly and came back out in jeans and a white undershirt, same look as yesterday but not the exact same clothes. Duo forced a grin like he was glad to see Heero and wasn't thinking about all the different ways he wanted to claw bloody scratches into Heero's face, just so he could understand what it felt like to find that stupid sketchbook.

He pitched in to help make dinner, and Quatre tagged along as well, to the point that Heero became clearly overwhelmed with the intruders in his kitchen. Duo especially, since Heero knew all too well what an utter disaster he proved to be at cooking. After a few attempts to help, Duo retreated around to the other side of the counter and took Quatre with him, leaving Heero to meticulously measure and prepare in peace. Zechs stayed where he was at, brutally silent.

Duo tried for conversation but couldn't snag anything out from the three of them. Heero proved the most interesting, same as always, because he answered everything Duo threw at him. It just wasn't like Heero to reject a direct question. He remembered the time the military recruiters came to the academy, and Duo found out ahead of time, so he dragged Heero off on an impromptu field trip as far as fucking possible from the men in uniform. He knew somewhere deep in his gut that Heero would have signed anything a man in uniform told him to sign and probably enjoyed his stupid self in the army, being told what to do and think every waking hour.

For dinner Heero made spaghetti and heated up a can of prepared sauce to go with it. The portions stretched out to feed the four of them but left nothing over for Heero's lunch tomorrow, and Duo caught the slight frown on his face as he ladled the last bit of sauce over Quatre's plate. He made a few addendums to his grocery list before studying the calendar. Heero carefully transferred "grocery shopping" from Thursday to the next day, Wednesday, and only once all that way taken care of did he joined the rest of them to eat.

Afterward Duo and Quatre helped do the dishes, which again made Heero nervous, so Duo ordered him out of the kitchen. "We're eating all your food, might as well let us clean up afterward."

Heero hovered obnoxiously close anyway. "You have to dry the dishes before they go in the cabinet."

"Uh-huh. I am drying them."

Heero gave him a look that Duo pointedly ignored. "Why don't you wash and I'll dry?" Quatre offered.

They switched, but no sooner had Duo slapped the sponge around the first plate that Heero spoke up with, "You have to rinse them before Quatre dries them."

"Who taught you how to do the dishes, Martha fucking Stewart? Chill out and stop bitching."

Oh, hell. It didn't come out funny at all, not a single smidge of good humor, and no amount of sharp-edged grinning could hide the pure vicious fury that bled out of him with the words. Heero took it in stride, or at least faked a great imitation of calm, but Duo spared him a guilty glance and caught the sudden stillness of his features that betrayed the forced effort. Okay, so, maybe Duo wasn't entirely able to shelve all his residual anger about that stupid sketchbook.

Quatre flinched and nearly dropped the plate he was drying. "Um," he said. "It's okay, Duo. I can finish by myself…"

"Yeah." Duo dropped the sponge into the sink. "Whatever, fine. Come on, Quatre, just leave it. Neither of us is gonna be able to do it picture fucking perfect enough for Heero anyway. Zechs, shuffle up the cards and deal out for Spades. Me and Heero versus the blondes."

Duo succeeded in bullying Quatre to abandon the dishes and move toward the living room. He thought Heero might stop him, might say something, he looked fit to wanting to, but Heero just went along with the motions. They all sat in a circle, partners across from each other, and Heero stared down at the cards in his hand.

"I don't know how to play."

"Yes, you do. I taught you, remember?"

Heero glared at his cards. "No."

"Oh, for the love of – it's not a hard game, Heero. Don't be fucking stupid."

"Um, I don't really know how to play either," Quatre said.

Zechs tossed his cards into the middle of the circle. "I got dealt crap anyway." His voice came out a bit hoarse, scraped mercilessly raw by his body's violent rejection of everything it had ever consumed, ever.

Quatre surrendered his cards as well, followed by Heero, and that just left Duo holding the Ace and King of Spades and furious he couldn't beat everyone with them, figuratively or literally. He chucked his cards into the center as well.

"What-the-fuck-ever. Deal something else, then."

Duo glanced up to see a set of cobalt laserbeams directed at him. He looked away. "Don't cheat, Zechs."

Zechs shuffled and didn't even have a witty comeback as he slowly passed out the hands and set the deck between them. "Fine. Go Fish, then. Everyone knows that one. Quatre, got any threes?

Quatre nodded and handed over a card. Zechs looked at Heero, "Nines?"

Heero shook his head. Zechs drew from the deck. Heero glanced down at his hand for a moment before saying, "Duo, fours."

Play progressed around in a circle for a bit until Duo grew too agitated and threw his hand down. "You can't play this game with Heero. He's got a fucking steel trap mind. Hey, Heero, what cards does Zechs have?"

"Three threes, two nines, possibly a seven and a Queen."

"And Quatre?"

"Two tens, three Jacks, and an eight, maybe a five."

"My hand. What did I have?"

Heero stared down at his own cards, so painfully and clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning but, just as Duo knew he would, answered anyway. "Two Queens, three Aces … and a four. You lied about it when I first asked."

"See? Heero, go sit in your room and bang out a teleporter from a broken toaster or some shit while we play."

Heero rose to feet, and Duo thought for a moment that he was going to obey, just like that, so it came as something as a surprise when Heero stepped right over the cards and closed an iron grip over his arm. "Hey!" Duo yelped in protest as Heero hauled him upright.

Heero forcibly removed him to the bedroom with a combination of pushing, pulling, and, when Duo really started to fight back in earnest, bodily lifting him off the ground. Duo spun, twisted, and tried to claw free of Heero's grasp. He felt skin catch and tear under his nails and heard Heero's little swift outtake of breath. Since he was already flailing and scratching like a wildcat, he might as well make all the right noises, and the first furious shriek caught Heero off guard. He got a hand up into Duo's mouth in time to stop the second, but Duo paid him back with a vicious bite.

Duo sucked air and found words instead of screams. "Letmegoletmegoletgo!"

Heero didn't say anything back, just shifted hands and arms and enfolded Duo so tight he could barely breathe, let alone struggle. He kicked futility at Heero's shins and jerked his shoulders and arms and found himself well and truly restrained. Almost as effective as any straitjacket.

"Heero!" More words, he needed to find them and stretch them and wield him. That was his strength, talking, always had been, he could talk circles around Heero if only he could grab for the right words. "Heero, stop it! Stop it!" Those were not the right words, but he couldn't stop them. "Let me GO!"

"Duo, calm down."

How could _he _sound so calm? Duo's struggles burst with renewed energy. Didn't Heero understand what it was _like_? He'd seen the sketchbook, hadn't he? Seen it and took it and then thought to share part of it, part of Duo's _soul_, everything that made him who he was, including the crazy – Heero took that, Duo was going to give it to him anyway, but he took it and shared it and now everyone knew about the crazy and always had to tell him what to do and how to think and how to feel and—

Well, he wasn't going to do it! Not anymore, he was done, he needed free of Heero right that instant so he could hurt him, hurt him like Duo had been hurt – the sketchbook, that rainy night in April, all the weekends that Heero said he would come and didn't, all the promises he made that if Duo only behaved and did what they told him that Heero would come and they could be together and—

It wasn't like that! It wasn't like that at all. Heero didn't understand, he just saw it as an equation, a bad circuit, something he could fix if only he had the right tools. Duo is sick, Duo needs medicine, Duo takes the medicine, Duo gets better – that's the equation, that's what the list must have told him, _How to Care for Your Crazy_, or more like one of those pamphlets he was always collecting, _Bipolar and Families, When Your Loved One is Bipolar, Coping with Bipolar Disorder_; there were lots of lists in those, lists and checklists for Heero to read and follow, the fucking blueprint for how to understand and fix Duo like just like he was a fucking toaster or waffle iron—

He was crying now. Big, heaving wretched bawling as if each tear and desperate choking sob was going to do anything other than embarrass him and cause a huge messy scene. Heero relaxed his hold and slowly turned Duo around, like he was maybe going to _hug_ him, and Heero was too dim-witted to realize that just because he was crying didn't mean he was broken. Duo got one hand up and free and flying, right into Heero's _stupid_ face—

Maybe he thought Heero would be sad about it. Or nice about it, nice in that way that always made Duo wary and suspicious, because in his experience only bad things followed when Heero went out of his way to be nice, bad things like Heero ripping out his fucking heart and offering it out to anyone with a series of letters after their name, because Heero thought he understood where authority fit into the blueprint. So he thought a lot of reactions to the silly little slap, which even Duo knew looked and felt foolish, and his hand was still free so he thought maybe to strike it back in the other direction or close it into a fist—

So maybe it was a good thing Heero didn't just take the blow or try to hug him again or say anything nice. Maybe it was a good thing Heero's first instinct proved stronger than whatever other brain circuitry could fire off and offer a different course of action. It certainly wasn't _nice_ of him to knock Duo sprawling with clock to the jaw, just as it wasn't _nice_ of Duo to sweep Heero's ankles out from under him, or for either of them to engage in the chaotic and brutal thrashing about that followed.

Duo knocked against the nightstand hard enough to tumble the whole thing over, the lamp's lightbulb shattering broken glass that he then had to avoid as Heero got him wrestled down into the carpet. He got a shard somewhere in the back of his neck anyway; he could feel the hard and cold edges grinding and shattering into the flimsy protection his braid offered against the lacerations. Duo started to throw his elbow into Heero's gut but found nothing behind him but empty air getting rapidly filled with shouts.

"What the hell!" That was Zechs, both arms locked around Heero and hauling him off Duo.

"Stop it! Stop fighting!" That was Quatre, wrapped so tight around his teddy bear it looked painful.

Duo flew up from the ground and went after Heero, who was pinned so perfectly in place by a well-meaning Zechs. Heero shrugged free and, fuck, Duo was back on the ground with both Zechs and Heero keeping him in place.

"Everyone out!" That was Heero.

"Look, I've wanted to knock him senseless too, but—"

"Out!"

Quatre separated one hand from Sandy long enough to pluck at Zechs's sleeve. "Um!"

Duo turned his head away in defeat, so he wouldn't have to see the two of them get up and leave him trapped in here with Heero fucking Yuy, who at least wasn't being _nice_ to him anymore.

Heero got to his feet and jerked Duo up as well. They were done fighting, that was clear, Duo knew he'd never stood a chance; Heero was just too much stronger than him, no matter how furious or dirty he fought. Heero's face was a thundercloud, but Duo decided right then and there he was tired of hating the sound of thunder. Let it rain.

"What is wrong with you?" Heero growled out. He had a long red mark across one cheek and his already unruly hair was a veritable disaster.

Duo doubted he looked much better, judging by the throbbing, and when he explored with his tongue he found a coppery tang of blood and split skin on his lower lip. "Don't you fucking know? I'm bipolar. It's a _disorder_."

Heero's brows made a slow and steady decline to meet in the middle. "I don't understand you."

Duo turned away and assaulted the poor, battered nightstand. He nearly broke the drawer from its hinges before yanking free the sketchbook. The other two notebooks tumbled free in a disheveled mess of paper and fucked up thoughts. Duo stomped over and slammed the sketchbook into Heero's chest, hard enough to rock him back a step.

"No shit you don't understand me, Heero. You've _never_ understood me. You've never understood anything that wasn't a goddamn fucking machine."

"No," Heero said slowly. "No, I…"

He refused to take the sketchbook, so Duo grabbed the pages and nearly ripped the thing apart trying to get his evidence in order. One, two, three dark images, and then the missing fourth one with its little red flag snag of leftover paper. "This, Heero. You _stole_ this from me."

"Yes."

Duo threw the book at him. Heero let it fly into his chest and flutter to the ground where it lay just like the damn stupid not-dead bird whose drawing ended up exposed in the fall. "You showed it to, who? The school counselor? That bitch who first fucking handed you a pen and paper and said, make a goddamn fucking _list_?" His voice spiraled up into an unholy high-pitched shriek.

"Yes." Heero looked down at the sketchbook. "You were sad. I was worried. You weren't yourself."

"Myself? Who the fucking hell do you think I am? Is this me, right now? Do you think that," Duo jabbed a finger down at the drawings, "isn't me? You're the one who is always saying it, I'm crazy! That's who the fuck I am, Heero. You're the one who keeps wanting to change me, make me into someone else – you don't want _me_!"

More crying. Let it fucking rain. Sorrow and anger both, he was crying because he was sad, and pissed as hell about it, which only made the tears fall all the faster. He slapped at them, wiping his cheeks dry and grabbing desperately for more words, because that was the only way he'd ever win against Heero.

Heero spoke before he could, something low and dangerous and lethal in his tone. "I do want you." He moved and was suddenly so close and dark and menacing and it made Duo shiver. Heero cupped a hand around the back of Duo's neck and forced their lips together and it was a different kind of fighting, a different sort of struggling, a different way that Heero knocked the breath out of him.

Duo heard himself whimpering, powerless to push Heero away or pull him closer or do anything than clutch his hands over Heero's arms and hang on for dear life, anything to make this real and gravitate his focus away from the wild, frantic energy that coursed through him and made him – _crazy_. Heero urged him back, and Duo gratefully let him be pushed, surrendering utterly.

"I want all of you," Heero said. "The highs and the lows. I know that's who you are. I know who you are, Duo."

Oh, Christ, it was going to be one of those times that Heero talked to him the whole time, because he knew with that unnerving keen sense that always told him when Duo couldn't talk and couldn't stand the silence, because he was drowning under his own racing thoughts. Duo clung to him and nodded. His back hit the mattress, and Heero's hands were all over him all at once shedding away clothes, and then they were in his hair. Duo tipped his head into the press of Heero's fingers as they shook free the braid, which fell apart easily as it was the same lumpy and loose one that Heero had clumsily made for him that morning.

"I wonder," said Heero, and his mouth was very close to Duo's ear. He sounded like a thunderstorm, and Duo refused to be afraid anymore. "I wonder if you know who you are. Do you know who you are?"

Duo shook his head and begged Heero with his hands and eyes to come even closer. Heero rose back so that his thighs straddled Duo's and wrapped the white undershirt up and over his head. "You are mine, Duo Maxwell. That's who you are."

Duo nodded. He nodded and nodded and never said a word the entire time, just ragged panting and moans and all the other sounds that he couldn't control but that was okay, because Heero did all the talking for a change, and it didn't even matter what he said. Duo heard every single word, of course. He never listened so well as when Heero did all the talking, talked circles around him, and Duo knew he would never, ever win.

* * *

Duo slowly opened his eyes. A small stretch of empty bed lay in front of him. Sunlight, actual, bright sunlight came in through the window. His mouth felt bruised and tender. Duo's tongue found the stinging twinge of pain where his lip split open. He felt ache and sore elsewhere, beaten and battered by last night. It didn't seem to matter much.

He rolled over to see that Heero must have set the nightstand to rights. The lamp was still missing its bulb. He wondered if the broken glass was still in the carpet. Probably not. Heero would have cleaned that up before leaving for work. Duo must have still been asleep.

Duo tilted his head without lifting it from the pillow to check the time: eleven o'clock.

He was still tired. Duo pulled the edge of the blanket up and over his head. It made it seem warm and cozy, down in the well.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I keep telling myself I need to stop writing and do the dishes or something but, well. I just can't stop myself. Is that a bad thing? I guess not, if it means you guys get the next chapter that much faster.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	74. Intervening

LSC / 02-23-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Four: Intervening)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 74

**Intervening**

* * *

"Hello." No mistaking that flat, hostile tone.

"Hey, Meiran. It's me."

"I figured."

* * *

"Hello."

"Hey, okay, listen, d—"

"Did you think I wasn't serious?"

"What? I don't know. I'm serious, too."

"Whatever."

* * *

"You have to stop calling."

"What if I'd been Noin?"

"You're right." She sounded as surprised to say the words as Zechs was to hear them.

"What?"

"One more phone call and I'm calling Ms. Noin. I'll tell her Milliard Peacecraft has run away and is harassing me. I'll get a restraining order."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"Meiran, please. Just tell Wufei I've been calling at least. Tell him I'm sorry."

"Why would I do that?"

"I know where Duo is. I'll—" Zechs choked on bitterness. She hadn't hung up on him yet. He had to pry his advantage while he still had it. "I can get Duo to call Wufei. You tell Wufei that."

Meiran laughed. "If that's all you have to offer than this really will be the last conversation we have. I'll let you in on a secret, since that's the case. I hate Duo Maxwell more than anyone else on the planet. One of the worst things that ever happened to Wufei was meeting _him_. You have no idea how glad I am Duo's out of the picture."

"Well, I… I'll give Duo your phone number _unless_ you tell Wufei I'm sorry."

She laughed again. "No you won't. And even if you do, I'll be the one to answer the phone, remember?"

* * *

Things weren't so bad down in the well this time. He knew how deep the hole went. He could still see the light up top, too. Last time, when'd been the last time time? Oh, yeah, April, right after Heero took him back to the hospital. He didn't know how deep the well could go then. He spent a few days just falling into it, first in the quiet room and, after the major antipsychotic tranquilizers mostly wore off, sitting in his room just staring at the opposite wall while Wufei stood somewhere nearby and talked. What had Wufei been saying? Duo remembered seeing his face there at the rim of the well, remembered his lips moving, but all the words were just a funny buzzing sound. He couldn't say anything back anyway, not as deep down as he'd been.

Now it wasn't so bad. He could remember to smile and say things when they looked at him. Duo'd spent nearly the whole day in bed, because he was tired, and he didn't have therapy or class or anything waiting for him. He took a shower and found a smattering of bruises across his hip and thigh.

_Smile_, one of Heero's post-it notes told him, when he looked at himself in the mirror afterward. The notes were kind of nice. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Sometimes in the well he forgot about that kind of stuff. Maybe for Heero it was the same. Duo tipped his face one way and then the other, looking at the puffy tenderness of his lip. A red outline of Heero's mouth marked the side of his neck. It made Quatre blush when he noticed.

He remembered to ask Zechs if he minded before going into the second bedroom, which maybe he shouldn't have done, because it earned him an odd look. Oh, yeah. It was his room, technically. Duo wandered around looking at all the bizarre little details Heero remembered to replicate. He found his bag of stuff and put on his favorite shirt, the one Quatre bought him that said_ I don't suffer from insanity, I'm enjoying every minute of it_, but when he looked at himself in the mirror again it just seemed wrong.

Duo stood there in the bathroom and studied his own face. He tried several smiles, some smirks, a few grins, but none of them looked right. The shirt didn't seem as funny. It was his eyes. He couldn't do anything about that. He took the shirt off and hung it up in the second bedroom's closet for a time when he was up in the sky again and could make it hilarious again. What'd he told Quatre? Heero _would_ hate it. He'd forgotten to wear it when Heero could see. Now he didn't want to make Heero angry. He was too tired to have another fight.

Heero had stocked the closet with a few simple black shirts in his size, so Duo changed into one of them before dragging his hand through the accumulated clutter on the desk. It seemed silly, the unused pastels and crumpled papers for no reason, but he knew why Heero had done it that way. He took a few sheets of a drawing paper and a handful of pastels into the living room.

Quatre was trying to teach Zechs the little clapping game that he and Duo had learned from the girls. That's right, he'd bet Relena and Dorothy a week's desserts the two roommates were better coordinated – back when they'd been roommates, and, oh, here they were again. Duo set the art supplies on the kitchen counter and pulled open Heero's refrigerator. He looked through the cabinets next. Not so much as a bite of something sweet, not unless Duo wanted to drink syrup straight from the bottle. He wrote_ ice cream_ and _cookies_ on Heero's grocery list.

"D'you want to play?" Quatre asked. His brow burrowed with tight concentration as he matched Zechs's motions.

Duo shook his head, remembered the post-it notes, and said, "No thanks."

Zechs looked at him oddly again, which made him fumble against Quatre's hand and nearly hit the kid in the face. They started up again, from the beginning.

Duo smoothed the paper across the counter. He hadn't drawn anything in a while. They had him stretched flat at the hospital, ever since Heero came just after his big stupid breakdown. Behave, behave, take the pills, and he'd been good for once and listened and let all the creativity drain out of him. He smoothed the paper flat.

Yellow. A few strokes, just enough to get the idea. Blue again, he wore a lot of that color, and it made his big eyes even bigger and bluer. Yellow, more strokes, longer, softer to be more platinum than gold, with the blotched red of the oversized hoodie – were they even aware what a pleasant palette they made like that? Primary colors, and even though the carpet was a dingy sort of once-white, Duo used a pale green just to give contrast. The hands were harder, since they were moving, and he smudged and scraped the colors before being satisfied with the results.

Quatre came over to look. "Is that us? Wow! You're really good."

Duo shrugged, remembered in time, and said, "Thanks." He shuffled the drawing to the side and pulled over a fresh sheet of paper. He had to go off memory for this one. Red and brown, blended and smudged and overlaying each other, creating a long sweep, and Quatre had to figure it out pretty quick, especially once he reached for the green and started making one emerald eye.

He put Trowa in a turtleneck, because that was what Duo had the best image of in his mind, and set him up against the doorframe of a room. Just a single brassy stroke, a beaten orange color, but to any of the three of them it was unmistakably one of the name plaques at the hospital. Duo used a faded blue and white for Trowa's jeans, the long and lean line of his legs. Arms crossed over his chest, half-hidden behind his bangs, just as wary and secretive as Duo always saw him.

Oh. He should have done something different. He should have tried to recreate the different Trowa, the one who wore short sleeves and hid as set of scars – no, something _different_; the soft way that Trowa held Quatre's hand when he thought no one was looking, the way he could smile without ever moving his mouth at the sight of the kid. He should have tried drawing something like that, even if he failed.

"It's good," Quatre told him. He looked sadly down at the drawing. "It looks like when I first met him. Are you going to do another one?"

Duo did have a third sheet of paper with him. He shook his head.

"I'm going out," Zechs said. "Either of you want anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thank you."

They both looked at Duo. "No. Thanks."

He let Quatre talk him into a few rounds of the clapping game, but he kept getting distracted and missing his cues. Finally Duo used the excuse he had a headache to retreat back into Heero's bedroom. The bed was still soft and slightly warm, and if he closed his eye and took a very deep breath he could almost smell Heero on the pillow and in the sheets.

Maybe he slept, maybe it just seemed that way, but when a gentle weight woke him the room was dark. Duo opened his eyes and shifted his head around to find Heero watching him. "Were you asleep?"

Duo nodded. He sat upright. Heero had a bowl of cereal balanced across his lap. He offered it to Duo. "Do you need aspirin?"

"What?" Duo swirled the spoon through his dinner. He'd slept right through lunch. He wasn't hungry much anyway. The calendar for the day put Heero getting off work at six, plus if he'd really gone grocery shopping right afterward like the schedule told him to… The clock on the nightstand told him it was nearly nine o'clock; no wonder Heero was only offering him cereal.

"For your headache."

Oh, right. Duo shrugged and put a mouthful of frosted wheat cubes drenched with milk into his mouth.

Heero studied him for a long moment. He reached out and tugged Duo's shirt collar to the side, no doubt looking at the hickey he'd left behind. If it embarrassed or pleased Heero, he made no sign of it. He pulled his hand back and just sat there silently while Duo ate. Duo handed him the empty bowl when he was finished, and Heero disappeared with it.

Duo thought maybe that was the end of things, so he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. _Smile_, the little note reminded him. He was too tired for that. The hairbrush was too heavy in his hands. He'd just sleep in the braid, no matter about the tangles. He shed his clothes in favor of one of Heero's shirts, a plain green one, and he wrapped the fabric to himself for a moment before slipping back into the bed.

He lay there and looked at the ceiling. Heero's ceiling was nicer than the one at the hospital, because the cheap window blinds let in enough of the yellow streetlight that it sent patterns and shadows across the room. Normally Duo might think to entertain himself by making the dark shapes into something, like watching clouds, but the boredom of insomnia never troubled him down in the well. He was too tired to be bored.

Duo rolled to his side and watched the bathroom door. Light came from underneath. He heard the sink running, the sound of someone brushing their teeth, and then Heero came in ready for bed. He went to bed and woke up so early. He worked so many long hours. In the hospital some part of him had always doubted that, or maybe wanted to doubt that, but actually staying with Heero showed Duo just exactly how his schedule went. Eat, work, come home, make dinner, maybe an hour to fiddle with his electronics, bed – Heero wouldn't have to worry about making time to visit the hospital anymore. Duo was right there for the visiting. Maybe he'd figure out a way to drop into the bottom of the well with him, visit him down there.

"I'm not asleep," he told Heero. Seemed fair to give him a warning, before Heero endeavored to crawl over Duo without waking him, and Duo shifted so that he was against the wall.

Heero slid in next to him. His feet were cold as they nudged against Duo's. Heero reached out and captured Duo's braid, pulling it forward between them. Without saying a word, he undid the hair tie from the end and began to work free the strands. Tight and neat, because Duo had made the braid, but Heero knew well enough how to break it apart without pulling or snarling.

Once he had freed all the crinkled chestnut waves, Heero pinned Duo to the bed with a gentle kiss. And then another, slow and languid, as he ran his hands up and over Duo's arms and underneath his own shirt on Duo's slim, pale body. Those rough calluses caught along Duo's skin and sent out waves of something like pleasure, but down in the well Duo just felt the cold lapping waters rising up above his ankle. He let the water rise, shifting obligingly when Heero set a knee between Duo's thighs and pushed them open. Numb spread over him, and Duo cast his eyes up toward the ceiling. The shadows made patterns, kind of like clouds, but he'd forgotten how to see them.

* * *

Zechs knew he was being reckless. Knew and fully accepted the risk, because it seemed better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself and getting shot down by Meiran over and over. That as an entire pile of nasty he didn't want to get near anyway. Made his head hurt to even think about it. Oh, she'd been serious all right. He'd called twice Wednesday, once at five and again a bit after eight, thinking to avoid his four o'clock routine. Yesterday he'd called right at three forty-two, hoping to catch Wufei getting home from school, and every single time he'd gotten Meiran.

Just like she promised.

Somehow.

She knew she could wave that over his head and was upholding that threat.

Yeah, so, made his head hurt to think about it, so Zechs figured the only thing left to do was take the risk or give up entirely on everything. Like. Everything.

So he was taking the risk.

And, technically, if he got caught, he could try to argue she'd only told him to stop calling.

Zechs arrived early and picked a corner far away to ensure anonymity while still being close enough to see. He smoked steadily to soothe his rattled nerves. A shot would have worked better, but he'd already bolted two before getting on the bus and had left the bottle stuffed between the mattress at Heero Yuy's apartment. He'd long since drained that first fifth of sickeningly cheap vodka and paid the wretched price for it. In retrospect he was lucky he hadn't drank himself into a fucking coma. Lucky, or unlucky, depending on how he looked at it. He'd replenished supply with rot-gut whisky, stolen underneath his favorite red hoodie with the cavernous pocket, because he was flat broke and too lazy for petty thievery. Shoplifting was riskier, but, hey he was being risky all over the place.

Zechs quickly tossed the cigarette to the ground and started walking. Streams of teenagers broke out from the building in clumps, but Zechs kept his eye on one in particular who was all alone and moving fast. Fast enough that Zechs felt a weird burst of panic when his target slipped between two school buses and he lost line of sight. Irrational to be alarmed, because it wasn't like Zechs didn't know exactly where he was going. Or, she. He had to get closer without being seen in order to find out.

Between the parking lots now, still alone and resolutely so, in sharp contrast to all the laughing and chattering groups. Zechs cut a diagonal across the street and dropped back out of sight. So far so good, except he couldn't _tell_, and it made him feel like an idiot. Hair down and glasses on, and he couldn't figure out that fast, head down walk either, not enough to be sure at least.

On the other side of the street now and crossing into the park, which made it harder for Zechs to keep distance and not be obvious. The slightest glance backward and he'd lose. Not even a one in three chance this was going to go in his favor. He had to get close enough to use force if necessary. This was a bad idea, possibly his stupidest ever, and it wasn't too late to abandon rampant idiocy and…

Two boys rocked off a bench and right into his – hair down, glasses on, maybe her – path. Zechs was too far away to hear the words, but he understood the body language well enough. He recognized the carefully set weight, the slight tip of one shoulder. They were older and bigger, one of them big and broad shouldered in a varsity jacket, the other just big with entirely too many freckles, and Zechs saw plain enough the small half step back that Wufei took. That step betrayed everything, because he knew neither Treize nor Meiran had enough sense to back down from an unwinnable fight.

Both boys might be taller than Wufei, but Zechs taller still, and he came at a fast enough walk to show he meant business without enough of a run to betray his fear.

"Hey!" Zechs gave that one single shout as a warning. He wanted them to get a good look at the warpath coming their way.

"Who—?" was all Freckles had time to say, because he'd made the fatal mistake of closing a hand over Wufei's elbow, and so Zechs collided into him with all the fury promised in his shouted warning.

One good blow, right across the boy's jaw, and Zechs heard Wufei shouting something that sounded a lot like go away, but Zechs would rather die than give up the one thing that made him feel really alive. He let the tiger's smile reign supreme as Freckles thought to fight back, not realizing that Zechs was stronger and knew better. He'd never been a bully, never needed to pick on those smaller, never relied on number or size to matter. He'd learned from necessity, first how to take the blows dealt to him, and later when and how to fight back, fight to win. Skin split under his knuckles – God, yes!

The other boy crashed against Zechs's back with some wasteful expense of breath, like profanity served a purpose and didn't just show what a fucking amateur he was. Zechs twisted free and bounced to his feet. Freckles got up slow and seemed distracted by the waterfall of blood pouring out of his nose.

Varsity jacket said something. Zechs could see his mouth moving, but a pulse pounding hard and fast in his ear made everything weak. They were both looking at him, reconsidering, maybe, or weighing their options, and must have decided that two against one were good odds. He needed a tight focus to avoid getting flanked, but, shit, he was getting slow or something – those two shots, to stable out his nerves, and Zechs never could fight for shit when drunk.

Freckles pinned his left arm and gave a brutal wrench, trapping Zechs into a neat a tidy package for Varsity's left hook into his gut. He doubled over that sickening empty feeling of getting the wind knocked out of you, and then everything changed.

A small dark-haired fury flew into the middle of things – Treize, by the sound of him – and Varsity knocked the younger boy sprawling into the grass. That was okay. What broke him was the fierce defiance in the glare that Treize returned from down on the ground. That arrogance! It ignited an echoing inferno in Zechs. What followed didn't quite make sense at the time or later, on the brief occasions he thought of it.

Nothing cliche like time slowing or him seeing red or anything stupid and melodramatic like that. Just one heartbeat spent looking at fierce dark eyes and then several heartbeats spent matching the rhythm of punches to his own ragged breathing. A pleading voice in his ear, louder and louder, "Milliard, Milli… Zechs! Milli, stop, you have to – Milli!"

And then stumbling along with someone holding his hand through something that wasn't really a run and certainly wasn't a walk. Grass underfoot changed to cement. Oil stains blotched in and out underneath his sneakers, and Zechs couldn't seem to look anywhere but at his own feet. Back into grass now, and then they were stopped.

He looked up to see Treize, so unmistakably, especially when he shoved a hand into Zechs's arms and succeeded in knocking him back a step. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Zechs let his eyes roam in a slow circle for a moment while he collected himself enough to find an explanation. They were standing underneath a row of trees in the little park beside the school. Treize must have led him in a big circle to avoid pursuit or, judging by ache in his hand and the vague memory of a brutal rhythm of flesh beating flesh, a lot of hassle for Zechs. The part of the trail they were on hooked around a big elm, so unless someone came directly up the path they had privacy.

"I wanted to see you."

"Liar," Treize said. He paused and let out a small sigh. "You're bleeding, you know."

Something tickled just above his lip, and when Zechs scrubbed a hand up to check it came away bloody. Bloodier, he amended. He looked at his hand. The scabbed over scrapes from the other day had busted open, making it hard to tell just from where all the blood came.

"Yeah."

Zechs rubbed at his face again, probably making it even worse. His nose didn't feel broken, at least. Zechs dug through his pockets and found a sock, stuffed in there for packing and somehow overlooked in the unpacking. Great. He tried to staunch the bleeding.

Treize crossed his arms over his chest. The glasses were off now, hopefully hidden in a pocket and not lost. "I can't believe you have the nerve to show up here. I can't _believe_ you. You are the absolute _worst_."

"What'd I do?"

Treize shoved him again with both hands, but Zechs remained steady this time. "You know! Don't act innocent. Don't treat me like I'm stupid. Wufei told me everything."

"What'd he tell you?"

Treize lift his hand, like maybe he was going to try shoving him again, and rather than let that happen Zechs closed his hand over the younger boy's wrist. Light but firm, with a clear look of warning. Treize snapped his hand away and fumed up at him instead. "You used me. Did you ever like me, or was I always just a means to an end for you?"

"I do like you."

"Liar! You're a liar! You're a snake. I fucking _hate_ you!" His fists beat against Zechs's chest, small and inconsequential blows that Zechs tolerated, because Treize's voice had broken into a sob there at the end.

"Don't, Treize. Come on." Hadn't Zechs just been thinking he wanted someone to cry over him? Well now he had his wish, and it didn't make him feel good at all. It made him miserable. "Whatever Wufei said, you shouldn't listen. He and I had a fight."

"You don't like me! You _never_ liked me!"

"That's not true. Come on, stop hitting me at least." He pocketed the bloodied sock because the bleeding had finally stopped and set both hands on Treize's shoulders, gently pushing the smaller boy a step back. "Wufei was just trying to hurt you to get back at me."

"Why would he say that if it wasn't true?" He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, tone wary but at least not hostile anymore.

"Well. What did he say?"

Treize glared up at him. "That you're a liar and a snake and that you never liked me and just wanted to use me."

"That doesn't sound like Wufei."

"Well, I don't remember exactly! Here," Treize shrugged Zechs's hands off his shoulders and then slung his backpack around to unzip it. He pulled out a red spiral notebook and, when he flipped through the pages, Zechs said three distinctive sets of writing and knew instantly what it had to be. Treize found the entry he wanted and showed it to Zechs.

_-September 22nd 11:38am  
I have determined that association with Peacecraft is detrimental to my continued efforts at assimilation into regular society. Beginning today I will no longer answer the telephone if he is to call.  
Treize: I owe you an apology. As we have discussed on multiple occasions your behavior is disruptive and creates complications for myself and Meiran. We are all aware of the issue. On the 16th I approached Peacecraft with a suggestion that at the time seemed advisable, but I have since reconsidered as dishonorable considering the absence of Peacecraft's feelings for you. I am speaking of course of your relationship with him. I'm afraid to tell you that his only reason for a renewed association between the two of you was my own intervention. I ask him to in an effort to curb your behavior. I understand now that was unfair of me, hence the apology.  
Furthermore I have told Peacecraft of my intentions. He admitted to me that he does not like you anyway, so I imagine this solution will be suitable to all parties._

Zechs started to turn the page, and Treize reached out to grab back the notebook. He had nearly a foot's height advantage over the other boy, and simply lifted the notebook above his head to avoid surrendering it. "I want to read the rest."

"You can't. Give it back!" Treize actually jumped up and down, scrabbling his hands over Zechs's arm in an attempt to reclaim the journal. "I just wanted you to read what Wufei had to say. This is where you're supposed to tell me he had it wrong, you know."

_-September 22nd 3:18pm  
I understand, Wufei. You've made the right decision._

That had to be Meiran's handwriting, all big cursive loops and the way her eight was like a little snowman, one circle stacked on top of the other, whereas Wufei made his in one continuous and interwoven line.

"Milli! Give it here."

Zechs batted him away with one hand and flipped the journal over to catch the next entry. Treize's handwriting, just as unmistakable, because the nine looked more like a four, and there were no loops in the twos.

_-September 22nd 8:09pm  
OK Wufei are you serious?_

Treize slugged him in the arm hard enough to bruise. "Stop reading!"

_-September 23rd: 5:47pm  
School today was uneventful, for the most part. I forgot to turn in my chemistry homework. I don't actually remember being in chemistry, so that must be why I forgot to turn it in. I did the homework, though, so I was able to turn it in after school and Mr. Stevens said he wouldn't count it as late. I'm glad that Noin talked with all my teachers.  
As for your inquiry - Yes, Treize, I meant everything I said._

_-September 24th: 1:23pm  
Then drop fucking dead  
PS – Chemistry is boring._

_-September 24th: 4:23pm  
Boys don't fight. I always knew he was trouble. You're better off this way Treize._

_-September 24th: 7:34pm  
Don't pull that crap Meiran. You'd back Wufei on anything. It's always two against one.  
PS – The chemistry teacher is pretty cute though. You think he'll swap a BJ for an A?  
PSS – Did Milli call today?_

Zechs started to turn the page, wanting to see the newer entries, but Treize finally managed to rip the notebook free. "I don't want you reading it."

"Wufei's wrong." Zechs put his hands into his front pockets. "He's wrong, you know."

"Don't lie to me." Treize shoved the journal back into his backpack.

"I'm not. I won't. Look. It's really complicated. Jesus, it's _really_ complicated, Treize. I do like you though, okay? Yeah, Wufei… I don't know. Whatever you want to call it, yeah, he did ask if I'd pick you back up again. He was worried about all the fights and shit you keep causing." He reached a cautious hand and, when Treize didn't pull away, rubbed gently at the worst of the fading bruises across the boy's cheek. "Look at you. What would have happened if I hadn't shown up today?"

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure. But how do you think it makes me feel, hearing you're all over whatever new pretty face catches your attention?"

"I was joking about Mr. Stevens."

"I figured," said Zechs, even though it was a bit of a lie. "And I have been calling, you know. Meiran keeps answering."

"She's a bitch."

Zechs shrugged. "She's a spitfire, I guess. I'll win her over eventually."

"So it's two against one again," Treize said with a sigh. "Assuming I believe you. Wufei is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar."

"Well, he's got it wrong." Zechs brushed his hand through the loose and silky strands of dark hair. He studied the smooth gold skin, still luminous even with the mottled rainbow of old, fading bruises, and the crested line of each black eyebrow. And those onyx eyes, warm and deep, gazing up at him and promising everything if only Zechs could stop being stupid and say the right thing for once.

A slow, sly smile spread over the boy's face. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Really truly?"

"Yeah. Promise."

"Very well, my prince of fire, you may kiss me." He tipped up on his toes so Zechs could reach. "Now that you've dashed in on your white horse to slay the quarterback dragon, are you leaving?"

Zechs shrugged. "No. Guess not."

"Walk me to the house, then. I need to check in before we can do anything fun."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for the kind reviews for the last chapter! I hope you love reading this as much as I love writing it. I'll work hard on the next update.

(The other day became very sad to think about a time when I won't have FoBW to write, you know)

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	75. Checking In

LSC / 02-25-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Five: Checking In)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 75

**Checking In**

* * *

A girl and a boy were hanging out in the driveway of the halfway house. He was lumpy and short and lazily bouncing a basketball off the backboard of the upright goal with a precision that spoke of many hours practice. She was almost as tall as Zechs and of indistinguishable shape with baggy black bondage pants and an oversize black hoodie. Streaks of blue ran through her black hair and a good inch of dirty blonde root showed through at the top. Her jaw worked through a lump of gum as she watched them approach.

Zechs slowed to a halt just at the edge of the neighboring driveway. "I'll wait here."

"Nonsense. Come inside with me. Oh, your face." Treize made a motion around his own nose. "Give it a scrub or something. You've still got some blood."

Zechs obeyed and earned an approving once-over from Treize. They walked up the driveway. The boy kept lobbing the basketball up at the goal, but the girl fixed her attention Zechs and said, "Who're you?"

"None of your business," Trieze said.

"Is that your _boyfriend_?"

The way she said it, sharp and full of childish scorn, struck a chord with Zechs. The boy caught the basketball and held it under one arm as he watched them.

Treize rolled his eyes. "Don't be crass, Marcy. I know that's exceedingly difficult for you to manage, but it'd be so worth the effort for you to try."

"Oh. It's you," her tone brightened considerably. "Delaney's in your room, Treize. Heads up."

"We're not staying," Trieze told her.

She suddenly reached out and slapped the basketball out of the fat boy's hands. It bounced off into the street, and he lumbered after it with a steadfast determination. She looked at Zechs again. "Sucks to be you," she said, sounding sympathetic about it.

Zechs had no idea what to say to that, so he just followed Treize into the house. A girl sat on the couch watching television and another lay stretched out on the floor with a spread of textbooks and graph paper in front of her; neither looked up as Treize hustled Zechs through the living room, down the short hallway, and then up the stairs. Tasteful and bland sepia-toned photographs of farm houses hung on the wall where a normal house might display family photos.

Blaring rock music came out of one of the upstairs bedrooms, the one at the end of the hall with the door swung open. Another directly in front of them had the door closed with two laminated construction paper circles taped to the front announcing the two girls who occupied the room: Marcy and Deborah. Zechs followed uneasily as Treize went toward the open door. Someone had written Treize and Meiran's names just underneath Wufei's on the door, and judging by the loops that someone was Meiran.

The room consisted of too much furniture and not enough space. Bunk beds dominated the far wall and competed with a tall dresser for the privilege. Two desks had been wedged into one corner, back to back, and it was easy to see which was Wufei's because it was perfectly empty except for a single pencil lying in the middle. The other one lay covered in papers and books, some mess equitable to Duo's worst, with a bulky stereo perched on the end that was producing the warbling guitar solo.

"Don't bitch to me about the music, Wufei. You can go do your homework downstairs with Deb."

The boy's voice came from the top bunk, and as they cleared the doorway he popped up into view holding a battered science fiction paperback. Lank brown hair hung over a pockmarked forehead that fit poorly with the rest of the boy's facial proportions. He was probably closer to Zechs's age than Wufei's, and looked ready for a fight as he sent a surly glare down at them.

"I couldn't care less how loud you play the atrocious abomination of sound you refer to as music," Treize said. He slung his backpack into the bottom bunk.

"Oh, it's you." The boy flapped over a corner on his book and closed it. "Who's your friend?"

"You're quite the popular individual today," Treize said to Zechs. He smiled, clearly pleased to be sharing the attention, and Zechs got the distinct impression he was being shown off and did not like it in the least. He shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched, wishing very much he had just insisted on staying outside, or maybe around the corner. But that wouldn't work, because there was no guarantee Treize wouldn't just switch out on him, and then where would that leave Zechs? Standing outside alone like an idiot, waiting for someone who didn't exist anymore to come back out of the nice suburban house.

"Let's go," Treize said. They backed out the room and retraced their steps downstairs. He went into the living room and asked the girls who was working. The girl on the floor redirected him into the kitchen to find Courtney, of the infamous inability to cook casserole.

Meeting the staff seemed like an inescapably bad idea. He'd have to trust that he wouldn't miss the switch if he stepped outside for five minutes. Treize let him go with an easy shrug and disappeared into the back of the house. Standing outside alone like an idiot seemed infinitely preferable to uncomfortable questions and a long ride in the back of a police cruiser, which Zechs fully imagined would be his fate once someone figured out what had happened to Milliard Peacecraft.

Outside he found Marcy and the other boy, who had resumed his droning toss, bounce, and catch routine with the basketball. Zechs reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, remembered that would be a bad idea with possible adult supervision lurking around, and stuffed it back, but not before the girl noticed.

"Hey, bum me one," she said. Zechs obliged her. She stuck it behind her ear and let a streak of greasy blue hair fall down to cover it. "Thanks."

Zechs shrugged.

"You're the one who keeps calling for Wufei," she said.

"Yeah."

"You're fucking crazy."

Zechs shrugged. "I guess."

"Like, seriously. How's that even work? Is Wufei your boyfriend, or just Treize? And what about Meiran? I mean, I guess it isn't a matter of liking girls or not..."

"It's not like that."

"What's not?"

"Not my boyfriend."

The girl leveled a stare at him. Her hand didn't seem so steady with the eyeliner; Zechs could see a smudged spot where it squiggled a crooked darkness under the corner of one eye. "Treize thinks you are. Talked my ear off about you." She lunged and smacked the basketball out into the street again. "My name's Marcy, by the way. You've got to be Zechs, yeah?"

Zechs shrugged again and wished that Treize would hurry the fuck up and rescue him from what had to be one of the most impossibly awkward conversations ever that did not directly involve him saying the wrong stupid thing to Wufei. Nope, instead he was just going to say the wrong thing _about_ Wufei. Fair enough. "What'd he say?"

"About you? Mostly good stuff. We talked on the phone once, you know."

"I know."

"You called me stupid."

"I told you not to be stupid."

She grinned at that. "So how's it work, then? You friends with Wufei, and Treize is just the side piece? Or is Meiran your girlfriend, even though he's not a girl."

Zechs had never been happier to see Treize in his entire life than that exact moment. He came down the front steps of the house and across the yard, and for a moment Zechs thought maybe two sixteen-year-old Chinese boys lived in the halfway house. Marcy followed his line of sight and called over, "Bitch, don't borrow my shit without asking."

Treize'd changed out of Wufei's drab school clothes and into the apparently stolen ones. Dark jeans, those were probably Wufei's, but the ripped up blank tank top and electric blue cropped jacket had to be the borrowed items in question. He'd brushed the loose black tresses into a high shine.

"I'm so fucking pissed you look better in my shit than I do," Marcy said.

"May I borrow it?"

"Yeah," she said. "Have fun. You want me and Delaney to cover for you on curfew?"

Treize smiled. "Would you?"

"Sure. Amber gets in at nine for the overnight shift and you know she's lazier than all hell. Bring me and Delaney back something nice for the trouble, though, or no deal."

"Fine," said Treize, with a glance at Zechs.

They started walking and passed the boy with the basketball, who was just waddling back after having reclaimed the ball from wherever it'd bounced. Zechs glanced back once just before they rounded out beyond the cul-de-sac and saw Marcy give them a slight wave. She looked like an odd black shadow that meshed poorly with the nice, quiet homes surrounding her.

"So!" announced Treize. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

"Tsk, tsk, Milli. That's not how to show a boy a good time." He looped his arm around Zechs's elbow. "Do you want to go see a movie?"

"No..." He shrugged Treize off and tried to seem casual about it.

"You don't have the red in your hair again," Treize said.

"Nope."

"That's too bad. I liked the way it looked."

"I'll do it again for you sometime."

Treize tried to get an arm through his again and, when Zechs rebuffed him, blew out a long sigh. "You've gone all ice again, Milli."

"Yeah? Sorry."

"Well. I suppose that's okay. Let's go back to your place and get all that darling color and flare for your hair, maybe that liner you had on before, too. I liked that. Do you think I could get you in at an eighteen-and-over club? You're tall enough, though, they might not even care."

"What? You don't have an ID, Treize."

"I'm nineteen. I shouldn't have to prove it." Treize lifted his chin in an exceedingly haughty way.

"I'm broke anyway," Zechs said.

Treize flapped his hand in a careless way. "I have money, don't worry about it."

"I can't let you do that."

"Feeling chivalrous, Milli? How utterly endearing. Where is it you're living, anyway? You've seen my place; it's only fair I see yours."

"It'd just be a waste of time." They weren't really walking anywhere in particular, but Zechs subtly steered them away from the park and school just to be safe. The streets were familiar in a bland, generic sort of way even if he failed to recognize the pastoral names like Deercreek Lane and Willowroot Road.

"We have all evening. I'll just need to stop at a convenience store and acquire the proper bribes for Marcy and Delaney's help in avoiding curfew tonight."

"Yeah, about that." Zechs waited for a car to pass before crossing the street. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what?"

"Stay out past curfew."

Treize frowned up at him. "Why not?"

Zechs shrugged. "I don't know. Won't that work out bad for Wufei if you get caught?"

"What do you care? I thought you said the two of you had a fight." Treize snagged his arm and brought them to a gentle stop. He looked up at Zechs with a solemn expression that seemed more fitting for Wufei or even Meiran.

For a moment Zechs thought he'd missed the switch entirely, but doubted either of the other two would continue to keep a warm hand on his arm as they spoke. "This is the absolute last time you get to use that as an excuse. I'm going to tell Wufei the same thing. I'm sick of getting caught between you like this. It wasn't fair the first time. Just because Wufei doesn't have the guts to ever have fun doesn't mean that I can't. I do like you, Milli. You've never been just a pretty face to me."

"Oh," said Zechs. Which was stupid but about all he could manage.

"Well. I said it, and don't let it go to your head, either." Treize gave him a teasing smile and kept that hand on his arm as they walked.

Zechs didn't shrug him off this time. "If you're really wanting to go out, I can probably get you in at the Hi-Lo. Most the bouncers know me, and if not I'll just show them my ID and say we lost yours." With Marcy's clothes and Treize's attitude, that plan might work; Wufei couldn't pass for twenty-one, not even with every ounce of Treize's self-assured arrogance, but nineteen and old enough for Zechs to be sneaking in, that seemed doable.

"What good is your ID going to do?"

"Oh, yeah. Here." Zechs dug out his wallet and showed his fake license to Treize.

"Your name is on this!" Treize grinned tipped the picture in its little plastic viewer. "Not Milliard, I mean. How clever! All right, then. So the plan is, go to your place to you can dress to the nines again for my amusement first, maybe kill a little time doing, you know, whatever – " his tone left absolutely no illusion as to what that meant – "then eat out somewhere, and then rock it up at this club where all the bouncers know Zechs Merquise. I love it," he purred out the word in that inescapably seductive way that Treize did so well.

"Sounds like an evening," Zechs said with a smile. "But we can just skip that first part. I'm dressed fine as it is."

Treize raked his gaze up and down the long line of Zechs's body with a clear look of dismissal. His favorite black jeans and the studded pyramid belt paired off with a faded red band shirt underneath a plain black button up he'd torn in enough places to bar it from church wear. Maybe not his flashiest look or his best, but good enough, right? Treize tipped his head to one side. "If you don't want me to see where you live just say it."

"Fine. I don't want you seeing my place."

"Why not?"

Zechs rolled his eyes. "Let it go, Treize."

"You told Wufei you were living with a friend."

Zechs pictured Heero Yuy's glare in his mind and weighed that against a bunch of terrible memories of a hated voice and cold dark eyes. "Yeah."

"Should I be jealous?" Treize said it lightly, with plenty of tease and flirt, but Zechs caught the slight undercurrent of wary distrust and the careful way the other boy wasn't exactly looking at him but pretending to be interested in the crosswalk button.

Now all Zechs could think of was the persistent and casual way Wufei always asked about Maxwell, and the ruptured tone in which he'd reacted to hearing Duo and Heero had reconciled, whatever that was about. Treize wasn't the one with cause to be jealous. "No."

"Nothing like an ass, cash, or grass situation, is it?"

"Jesus, Treize."

"Is it?"

"No. Where do you even get ideas like that?" So if Wufei carried the torch and Meiran the burning resentment, where did that leave Treize on the matter? Only one way to find out. He had all the words lined up, but his tongue rebelled and stuck to the roof of his mouth. He needed a drink. Maybe a smoke. Maybe both, that delicious mix of cheap beer and menthol to settle his nerves.

"Well, then. Why not?" Treize pressed.

Maybe it was a trap. Could it work that way? No, Wufei had no idea he'd jumped ship and gone to stay with crazy and crazier. Did he have any reason to expect that? Could it even work that way? Did Wufei automatically know everything Treize knew? It didn't seem that way, it'd never seemed that way. Zechs was tapping out a cigarette before he even thought about it.

Dark eyes followed the motion of his hands. "Put that away, Milli."

"Huh?" Zechs paused, hands cupped around the end of his lighter.

"I'm not interested in kissing an ashtray. Put them away."

"Oh." He shrugged and did as Treize asked. "Bad habit, I know."

"I should be your only bad habit." The smile he gave was positively wicked.

"Oh, you're a bad habit, all right."

Treize set a hand against his arm and tipped up expectantly. Zechs threw a cautious glance up one end of the street and down the other before ducking his head into a quick kiss. The shorter boy rocked back on to his heels and continued to smile up at him that same promising look of, how'd he said it the other night? All the good things in life. No embarrassment, no shame, just open and sinful affection.

Zechs looked away. The kiss shook the words free. "What do you think of Duo?"

"Excuse me? What's brought this on all of a sudden?" Treize regarded him warily. "Why do you want to know?"

Zechs shrugged. Too late to take the question back, but he felt powerless to elaborate.

"He's okay, I suppose. We always got along all right. I found him a bit immature for my tastes. I don't understand what it was Wufei saw in him."

"Yeah?"

Treize smiled up at him. "Would you like to know a secret?"

"Okay." Zechs forced himself to sound casual about it.

"Our illustrious and meddlesome Wufei has been nursing the most hopeless and pathetic crush on he of the long braid and rollercoaster moods. Oh, he'll never in a million years admit it. I tried to help him out with that, sowing the seeds of discontent between Duo and that psychopath he's so enamored with, but did Wufei ever once appreciate my efforts? No, of course not. I've wondered if he's so thick-headed to not even realize his own infatuation. That would be just like Wufei."

"Right." Zechs found it incredibly difficult to breathe around the sudden tightness in his chest. Oh, he'd suspected for a long time, and wondered how it was Duo himself hadn't noticed, but suspicions were not the same thing entirely as looking down into those warm black eyes and seeing Wufei's face form Treize's words, except, no, he knew that wasn't right, he had to stop thinking like that—

A lightheaded rush of dizziness sent him groping for the pole of a streetlight to stay upright. _Okay, Zechs. Calm down_. _It's nothing you didn't already know_. Wufei's voice in his head, distant and cold through the earpiece of a payphone, haltingly trying to ask about Duo and Heero, and Zechs spitting jealous ire right back without considering the consequences. Nothing he didn't already know. Not like he ever thought this would be easy.

"Milli? Are you quite all right?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"Are you sure? You've gone very pale. Did one of those brutes knock something loose?" Treize's fingers fell against his cheek, stroked a line up along the side of his face, and disappeared into the long strands of Zechs's hair.

"It's fine, Treize."

"Well," the smaller boy huffed. "It most certainly seems that way. Are you going to tell me the reasoning behind such a seemingly random inquiry? Do you wish to know my opinion of Barton and Winner as well?"

The last name thing had him suddenly panicked, but, no it was still Treize standing right up against him. Wufei would never invade his personal space like that. His fingers wouldn't be the ones stroking through his hair, his version of those dark eyes would never hold such sweet concern beneath all the layers of mocking arrogance. Zechs shifted out from Treize's grasp and tipped a shoulder into the light pole.

"All right," Zechs said. He sighed.

"You do?" Treize lifted a rueful brow at him. "Be warned, I have a thing for tall men. You might not want to hear my analysis of Trowa's physique."

"What? No, Treize. I don't care about that."

"Don't worry. You're taller."

"That's not what I meant. I'm saying, we can stop by my place, and I'll change my clothes or whatever." Zechs started them on a trajectory toward a bus stop. "No promises this is going to work."

Of his options, this plan seemed both the best and the worst. Maybe not the absolute worst; that had to be the situation where he put Treize in the middle of Heero Yuy's apartment and then lost him to a switch. Meiran or Wufei, it didn't matter which, once they knew where to find Duo he lost any sense of control. He had to agree with Meiran that things were better with Duo out of the picture, and no matter how Treize felt on the matter it wasn't worth that insane level of risk. Refusing Treize was only going to dig him deeper into a pit of insatiable curiosity, so that left Zechs with an exceptionally terrible idea

On the bus, Treize a slipped his hand into Zechs's between the seats. They had to transfer twice as their destination lay far from the halfway house's incongruously polite suburbs in both attitude and physical distance. They chugged steadily south into rougher and cheaper neighborhoods. Zechs watched them pass with a detached sense of familiarity.

He could feel the curiosity radiating off Treize, but the other boy matched his silence to Zechs's and mercifully refrained from pestering him with an explanation. They got off the bus and walked the last mile or so, which did finally cause Treize to question, "This isn't where you're currently staying, though, is it?"

"No."

"I see," purred Treize.

He started to wrap their hands together again, but Zechs shook him off with a sharp, "Don't.

Treize huffed with displeasure, but he could just keep huffing for all Zechs cared. They weren't alone here. A pack of kids ran through the street kicking a dented soccer ball, and indolent adults sat out on the front steps either to keep watch or keep guard. Zechs nudged Treize toward the inside edge of the sidewalk as a trio of girls passed in the opposite direction, their voices flying fast and thick in Spanish. He possibly recognized the tallest one, but she glanced right over him without a flicker of interest.

The rambling white house looked worse than the last time he'd seen it, back in the spring, with the roof sagging under the weight of the sky and the grass tinged yellow with despair. Now hacked mercilessly into smaller units, Zechs liked to imagine sometimes what sort of people may have lived in the house when it was one continuous and oversized residence. He didn't see her car on the street or in the back of the gravel driveway, but that could equally mean she'd left it at the bar again and walked rather than risk that fourth DUI, the one where they took your license. It could also mean she'd moved again. No way to tell without going up to check, but he circled the house again, with Treize right at his elbow and fairly quivering with repressed inquisitiveness, just to be sure.

The front door opened into the cramped hallway, with two doors labeled A and B and the stairs leading straight up at such an angle that Zechs had to stoop his head or risk bumping it. Upstairs were C and D, and he carefully tried the knob on D. Locked. Zechs knelt and flipped up the corner of the rubber welcome mat, which was the same, so maybe she hadn't moved after all, and there was the key, right where he expected, so it saved him the trouble of scaling up the tree out back like when she used the key and left it on the coffee table or in her pocket rather than replace it.

He unlocked the door, dropped the key back to the floor, and then nudged the mat back into place with his foot. The neighbor's cat streaked between his ankles as soon as he popped the door open; Charlotte must have let the creature in and forgotten about it. The cat was always meowing outside their door, probably precisely because she kept bringing it in and feeding it.

"Your cat's escaped," Treize said.

"Not my cat," Zechs corrected, lowering his voice in a whisper. "Be quiet for a second."

The living room and kitchenette were both empty. Only a line of tile served to distinguish the two spaces as separate entities. The lingering aroma of her favorite perfume, the one she doused herself with before going out, mingled with the stale smell of smoke. It struck Zechs as a wave of homesickness, strange and vile, and he grabbed Treize's hand under the pretense of leading him toward the back of the apartment. It made a nice anchor, reminding him of all the various reasons he shouldn't miss anything about that place.

He checked her bedroom to confirm she hadn't just passed out across the bed again, fully dressed, leaving Zechs to take off her shoes and toss them into the forgotten whirlwind of laundry across the floor. Who took her shoes off, now that he wasn't around?

"Can I talk yet?" Treize asked, in hushed, rounded tones. Sweet and mocking, their hands still clasped, and it made Zechs grin even if it was a bit too sharp.

His bedroom, across the short hall from hers, looked just as he remembered. "Sure," he told Treize. "She's not here."

"Who?" Treize walked a circle of the room, his eyes roaming over the band posters and the big skull and crossbones flag serving as window curtains.

"My mom." Zechs threw open his closet door and took a brief inventory of what remained. He shoved aside a few obvious rejects and searched toward the back of the closet.

"Oh," said Treize. Then, in a much different tone, "Oh! Goodness, Milli, is this you?" Treize picked up a framed photo off the cluttered bookcase which contained very few books.

"What? Yeah." Zechs barely glanced at him.

"You're so young! How utterly charming. Are you wearing a Catholic school uniform? Be still, my heart. This is positively decadent. You are the embodiment of Devil's food cake. Do you have one of you a bit more recent in the same outfit? As adorable as you are circa age eight, of course, but I prefer the older model."

"No, I went to public school after 6th grade." Zechs closed his hand over the shirt he wanted and pulled it out.

"What an utter tragedy. I'll have to use my imagination." Treize wandered over to the bed and sat, bouncing lightly as if to test the mattress for optimal springiness. "Come here, Milli." He stretched out a hand a sly smile, beckoning.

He found another shirt and tugged it free of the hanger as well. "Don't, Treize. She could be back at anytime. Here, which top do you want me to wear?" Zechs held them up for inspection.

"Model them for me."

Zechs rolled his eyes and tossed one of the shirts back into the closet. He shucked off the black button-up and, when he put his hands on the underlying red shirt, became conscious of Treize's unabashed observation.

"Oh, don't mind me," said Treize with a smile. "Please continue."

Zechs chuckled and tossed him the faded band shirt once he had it off over his head. Treize caught it easily and beckoned again, and maybe it was way he so effortless made everything light and fun and playful, or the smile that Zechs could feel tugging across his face - that strange one that was like his real smile, except not, the one he'd decided to make just for Treize. He crossed the distance between them.

Treize pressed his hand into the center of Zechs's bare chest, his fingers slightly cool against his skin. Dark eyes tipped up toward him. "If you go dressed like this we'll cause quite a scene."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," he said. "So maybe you should. I do love the dramatic."

"I don't think so."

Treize wrapped both hands around Zechs's waist and continued looking up at him with that openness that Zechs could never get enough of. "No? Well. That's all right, I suppose. I can keep you all to myself this way."

"Yeah?"

He let Treize pull him down beside him on the bed. Treize leaned toward him, and they were kissing, just that easily. It was always easy with Treize. That's what Zechs liked about him, right from that very first moment they met, when Treize had just walked right up and started flirting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Too bad everything else had to be so complicated, but moments like this made it all worthwhile.

He slipped a hand through the silky black strands and let them slide over his fingers like water. Treize tipped into the gesture and sought Zechs with lips that as soft and eager as always. Zechs abruptly found himself wondering if Wufei would kiss any different with those same lips, and felt absurdly guilty for the thought. Yeah. It was complicated, but maybe that was okay.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

So I'm glad you like Zechs and Wufei/Treize/Meiran, because I surely do love writing them! I suppose it's okay to admit I'm a fangirl for my own characters, right?

Thank you for the reviews and for continuing to read. I'll be hard at work on the next update.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	76. Something Like Fun

LSC / 02-27-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Six: Something Fun)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 76

**Something Like Fun**

* * *

Zechs nearly stabbed himself in the pupil with Charlotte's eyeliner when he heard her key in the door. Only the thought of lopsided raccoon eyes kept him from dropping the black makeup pencil. He smashed the plastic cap back into place, pocketed it, and spun out of the bathroom before the front door could open. He hadn't heard her scraping the lock this time, and the sun was just beginning to sink out of sight, so chances were she was sober, and if Zechs let her catch sight of him there was no avoiding a rather messy confrontation.

"Wha—" Treize started to say, but Zechs threw a kiss at him to shut him up and bullied him over to the window. She had no reason to think to look in his room. They had just enough time if Treize kept quiet.

Zechs threw the window open and gestured silently toward the tree that butted up against the side of the house close enough for getting in and out of his room without using the front door. Treize gave him an _are you fucking crazy_ look and shook his head. Zechs nodded and shoved Treize toward the open window.

"No!" hissed Treize. "What are you—"

"Sh! Go," whispered Zechs. "Can't you climb?"

"Can't say as I've ever had the dubious pleasure of such a juvenile activity, oh! Stop shushing me," Treize said. He slipped through the window and unsteadily found a foot and hand hold within the tree. Zechs watched impatiently and strained to hear the sound of Charlotte opening the fridge, putting ice in her glass, pouring herself a drink – he should have thought to lift a bottle or two out of her cabinet, damn.

Trusting that Treize would either climb down safely or fall into a tumbled heap with or without him watching, Zechs rushed to the bed and wedged a hand between the mattress. He swept it in an arc to clear out whatever squirreled away goodies lay in wait. A mostly-empty bottle of peppermint schnapps obligingly presented itself to him. Zechs stuffed it into the pocket of his black leather jacket and next emptied out his nightstand drawer rainy day fund for thirteen dollars and sixty-seven cents, not a fortune, but better than broke.

He leaned out the window and saw Treize drop to the ground from one of the lower branches. Zechs closed the window after himself and hurried down with a practiced ease. Treize shoved him just as soon as he dropped into range. "What was all that!"

Zechs jerked his head toward Charlotte's car, now parked in the grass at the end of the gravel drive. "My mom."

"Still," fumed Treize. He made a great show of brushing imaginary dirt from his jacket and pants. "And you didn't finish doing your eyes."

Zechs held up the eyeliner. "I can fix it."

"Oh, all right."

They walked back the mile back to the closet bus stop and, while they waited, Zechs used a shop window to finish darkening his other eye. He'd found another red hair extension amid his stuff and clipped it into place alongside his face, as per Treize's request. Underneath the leather jacket he wore a black shirt slashed repeatedly with diagonal lines of red tartan, thrown across the fabric like streaks of paint. Across the back, hidden by the jacket, tartan lettering announced _punk is dead_, which Zechs thought was corny, but he liked the front of the shirt well enough.

When he finished and went to rejoin Treize, he earned critical once-over followed by an approving nod. "You look hot," Treize said.

Zechs felt oddly flustered by the assessment. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Kind of dangerous, too. I like it."

They rode into a nicer part of the city, and Treize lamented their respective appearances precluded a gourmet indulgence. Zechs directed them to the cheap pizza place he knew about, the one he'd offered to Meiran when she'd chosen burgers instead, and assured Treize the pasta wasn't half bad.

"The tablecloths are red gingham," he allowed. "Even if they are plastic. And these flowers are fake." Treize gave one a dismissive flick.

"D'you want me to go buy some candles, maybe hire a fat guy to come serenade you in Italian?"

"Don't be silly." Treize smiled as he said it.

Zechs flashed his fake ID to order a beer and slid it across the table to Treize when the waitress wasn't looking. "You're not taking any medication, right?"

"Course not," Treize said. He drank with more confidence than Meiran. They passed the beer back and forth, ate their meal, and lingered for a long time over a slice of cheesecake that Zechs let Treize eat the lion's share. He also let Treize do most of the talking, which seemed to please the other boy on both accounts.

Treize cheerfully explained that Marcy and Delaney were both more of delinquents than mental cases, and that Marcy especially had become something of a friend to him. Zechs didn't comment on the hostility he sensed between either of them and Wufei, who doubtlessly proved unpopular with his rigid adherence to the rules. The boy with the basketball, whose name turned out to be Rickie, was apparently doped up on enough antipsychotics to render him, as Treize put it, "as intellectually stimulating as a lump of mashed potatoes."

Treize paused for breath around a longwinded description of Marcy's roommate, Deb, the distilled version of which was that she was a whiny attention whore who got along with Wufei. "Well," said Treize. "Enough of my infinitely fascinating character assassination regarding the lovely occupants of Shirin House – how about you, Milli? Tell me something about yourself."

"Me?" Zechs flagged the waitress down for another beer, just so they could keep the table longer. It was still too early to head for the club, not if they wanted to get in without attention and fuss.

"Yes," said Treize. "Not that I don't love your mystery, of course."

Zechs shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"Hm, let's see!" Treize tapped his lips, once, twice, and the gesture captured Zechs's attention. "Tell me about your charming domestic life."

"Not much to say." Zechs rolled the bottle between his fingertips, streaking them with cold condensation.

"Do you have any siblings?"

Zechs shook his head.

"Does your mother work?"

Zechs laughed at that, a sharp, barking sort of sound. "Not really. She's between jobs."

Treize sighed and pushed the empty dessert plate into the center of the table. "You make for a dreary dinner conversationalist, Milli. Tell me something cheerful."

Did it seem melodramatic to admit that he couldn't think of anything about himself that Treize might find cheery? Well that was a depressing thought. Zechs suddenly became way too conscious of the leather bands on either wrist, even though they lay hidden beneath his jacket cuffs, and he slid the beer across the table before hiding both hands under the red and white checked cloth.

Treize pulled a long drink and gave him an expectant look. "Well? Come now, Milli. What's your favorite food?"

"Oh." Zechs considered it for a moment. "I guess onion rings. Or those little crunchy ones in the can. My mom would put them on top of this green bean casserole. I hated the casserole, but I loved the crust, so I'd always ask her to make it."

"See? That's a wholesome bit of childhood nostalgia. How charming."

Zechs was glad he hadn't continued the story to its inevitable conclusion, where he simply ate a can of crunchy onion topping and his mother refused to buy it anymore but the assumption that he enjoyed green beans lingered. That was back when Charlotte still cooked dinner sometimes and the kitchen functioned as more than just an elaborate in-home bar, and Zechs actually came home in the evenings rather than crawled up a tree to avoid seeing his mother glassy-eyed in front of the television.

Treize tipped back the rest of the beer. "You're looking exceptionally mopey. I thought onions only made you cry when you cut them."

Zechs shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You can keep all your mysterious charm." Treize gestured to the waitress for their ticket and laid down the cash over Zechs's half-hearted objections. "Let's go," he said.

Treize got a hand into his as they walked, but it was dark, so Zechs didn't pull away. After they'd gone a few blocks, he gently tugged Treize aside into an alley. Treize gleamed up expectantly at him, but Zechs instead drew out the bottle of schnapps. "Pre-gaming," he explained.

"Where did you get that?"

"From my room. Saving it for a rainy day, I guess." Zechs took a long drink and wondered why the hell he'd ever lifted such a sickly sweet liqueur. He passed it to Treize and watching the boy take down a bolt without flinching reminded him sharply of exactly how the schnapps came to be in his room. Luna and her sister Soris, upending a plastic bag of cheap plastic bottles across his bed, and Zechs too stupid to know what it meant when girls plied you with an abundance of alcohol.

Treize handed him the bottle. "It tastes liked distilled candy cane, and I'm not entirely positive if I mean that to be a compliment or an insult to the manufacturer."

"Yeah. I don't like it either." Zechs drained out another slug and passed it back to Treize. "But, it's what we got."

"Astute observation, Milli." Treize finished off the bottle and chucked it toward the nearby dumpster.

They started walking again, and this time Treize kept his hands and arms to himself, which gave Zechs a small twinge of disappointment. A strong breeze whipped cool air over them, and Treize wrapped the electric blue jacket tight across his chest. "I feel pleasantly buzzed."

Just buzzed, after splitting the schnapps with him, and taking down most of the second beer? Zechs considered the confident way that Treize placed each foot and articulated each syllable and placed it up against the smaller boy's slight weight and Zechs's own tingly tipsiness. "Yeah? Been drunk before?"

"Of course. One year, or was it two? I suppose we can split the difference and say about a year and half ago I knew this boy named Roger Jenkins who was exceptionally dull and not nearly as lovely as you, but I knew him nonetheless. Anyway, he and I used to work our way through six-packs of cheap beer like they were going out of style. Which, I suppose, they should be, as it is one of the greater tragedies in life to be reduced to drinking camoflage-printed aluminum cans."

"What happened to him?"

"Who?"

"Roger Jenkins."

"Oh, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Meiran said you kissed him on a dare."

"Did she?" Treize smiled up at him. "Nosy little wench. I suppose I did. Don't worry so much, Milli. You're much taller and far lovelier, didn't I just say that? Well. It's a fair enough curiosity, however, so I will indulge you. The fallout was rather nasty, you know. I don't believe enough camo-cans of watery beer existed in the world for dear Roger Jenkins to tolerate my presence afterward. Alas, how tragic," Treize said. "Meiran has accused me multiple times of being the principle reason for the change of domestic scenery, house to hospital that is, but I like to think myself simply misunderstood on the entire matter. Her reaction was a large part of it, you know. That's just like her to make dire threats and carry them through without thinking of the repercussions. She has a nasty temper, you know."

"Yeah, I do."

"Ah, poor Milli. I suspect she hasn't been entirely friendly toward you, has she?" Treize made a clucking sound with his tongue and looped an arm around Zechs's waist in a brief, sideways hug.

Zechs's head swam with a multitude of questions he knew had to go unasked. No one at the hospital could tell him, not Relena or her friend Dorothy, or even Quatre, how long Wufei had been like… how he was. Two years, then, at least, if Treize's recollections could be trusted. He'd figured as much, talking with Wufei. He wondered if it was like a blackout for Treize, those hours when he wasn't around, or if it only struck Wufei like that.

Treize nudged him with a shoulder. "Don't take it personally. Meiran's like that to everyone. She'll always just echo whatever it is Wufei thinks anyway. It's always two against one," he said with a sigh.

It gave Zechs an opening, so he took it. "How long's it been like that?"

"Forever," Treize said.

Well it wasn't like he'd really expected it to work. Zechs smiled anyway, that new smile, the one just for Treize, and brushed a lock of black hair out from the blue jacket's collar. "Forever, huh?"

"Something like that. How much further do we have to walk?"

"Not far." Zechs had, in fact, been leading them in the longest possible route. Fortunately for him, a sense of direction did not seem to be among Treize's talents. "What time is it?"

"Bit after ten." Treize flipped up his wrist and tucked the jacket sleeve, which was a smidge too long for him, back enough to get a good look at the watch face. "Ten-twenty-one, to be precise."

"Sure," said Zechs. "You're officially out past curfew."

"Oh, how daring. Do you hear any sirens, a helicopter in pursuit, perhaps? No? That's a shame." Zechs frowned at him for a moment, to the point that Treize noticed and said, "What?"

He'd only been thinking they were long overdue for a switch, but it wasn't like he could very well say that to Treize. Not that Zechs understood what triggered it, or if any of them could control it – except maybe Meiran, who threatened to always be on the other end of the telephone and then carried through on that threat. Zechs shook his head. "Nothing. This way."

They crossed a few blocks of bars and restaurants that cared how old you were to reach the Hi-Lo, which really only cared how old you claimed to be. Bright neon lettering spelled out the club's name and fought for a hideously filthy street light for illumination rights to the cramped fire exit that faced the street. Zechs pulled them down the side alley, toward the plastic palm tree and giant bamboo umbrella canopy of the patio. Something about the entrance being so many feet from something else, he'd been too drunk and focused on trying to pick up one of the bartenders to actually retain the explanation.

A thirty-something with a face full of metal, a shaved head, and a dark goatee sat waiting for them on a stool just inside the entrance. Loud beats of electronic dance music blasted out into the mostly empty yard from a single dented speaker tied around one of the fake palm trees. Zechs polished his charming smile and put it on in full force, "Hey, Bruce."

"Hey," the bouncer said. His eyes slid from Zechs to Treize, who looked appropriately bland and bored, like he had absolutely no apprehension about getting refused entry. It was entirely possible he felt that way, Zechs realized.

Zechs reached for his wallet, but the bouncer just shrugged. "Five dollar cover," he said. "Penny beer night until eleven."

Zechs gave him the ten from the rainy day fund in exchange for a rubber stamp across both the back of both his and Treize's hands. The fake driver's licensed stayed in its plastic protector, and Treize didn't have to say a word. Zechs led them out of the empty patio and into the dark, smoky interior of the bar itself. The music reached a drum-burst crescendo as they passed under one of the speakers, but lessened toward the back where the pool tables were.

"Wanna play?" Zechs nodded his head toward the tables. A group in skinny jeans and plaid shirts with greasy hair and mournful, tortured artist looks occupied two of the tables, but that left the last one, edged up into the back corner, empty.

"All right," said Treize.

"Go stake it out, I'll get us something to drink."

"Nothing cheap," Treize warned. He shuffled out his wallet and broken open the velcro closure.

"How'd you get cash, anyway?"

Treize gave him a sly, devious smile. "I'll tell you when we're not having to shout."

Zechs took the offered twenty and got in line at the bar. Although no one seemed keen to hang outside that early in the evening, enough people had been lured out by the penny beer – surely the absolute cheapest swill on tap – to create a packed crowd around the harried bartender, who was fortunately not the tattooed skinhead that Zechs had tried to unsuccessfully go home with.

Since the promotion ended at eleven and it took him easily twenty minutes just to get up near the front of the line, Zechs used his charming smile to talk the bartender into giving him two pitchers for the three dollars and sixty-seven cents he had leftover from the rainy day fund, minus the cover charge. For Treize he ordered a Long Island Iced Tea and then had a hell of a time juggling everything back over to the pool table.

"Goodness, do you think you have quite enough to drink?" Treize, thank God, because it had taken him so long that Zechs half-expected to come back and find a furious Meiran getting ready to spit fire and knock the whole pool table over in her fury, or maybe snap one of the cues right over his head.

"Stocking up, I guess." Zechs found a perch for the pitchers along the rails and poured himself out a draw. "Might as well while it's cheap."

"Atrociously cheap," Treize agreed. He sipped at his own drink. "I find it fair to warn you that I've never played pool before."

"Really?"

"Yes, so I don't think we should place any bets on the outcome."

"Maybe we should." Zechs shuffled the balls into the rack and slid the triangle into the center of the table, making a great show out of inching it first one way and then the other. "I'll bet you I win."

"Where's the sport in that?"

Zechs favored him with a feral grin. "The sport is I win."

Treize rolled his eyes. "And what are we betting?"

Zechs shrugged and hook the rack back into place against the wall. "Whatever. A kiss."

"Seems a fair reward for gracious defeat. Very well, I accept your terms. Now tell me how the game is played, so I at least can make a fair show of losing."

Zechs outlined the rules for eightball as he leaned over the table to break. He rolled the four into the side pocket. "I'm solids, you're stripes," he announced.

"All right." Treize immediately scratched the cue ball into the corner pocket.

"Try again," Zechs said.

This time he shot wild and the cue ended up doing a great deal of bouncing before nestling to a halt right in the middle of a small cluster. "Oh, I hit some."

Zechs laughed and made a neat and tidy shot against the two, banking it off the rail right underneath his pitcher before it rolled into the pocket. He shot the three around into position and nodded for Treize to take his turn. When he leaned over the table, a curtain of black hair slipped over his ear and swung out toward his face. The boy straightened and rummaged through his pants pocket for a moment before freeing a hair tie. Zechs watched carefully, heart in his throat, as the inky stresses got bundled back into a single tight knot.

"Your turn," Zechs said quietly, waiting.

Treize still, giving him a smile. "I know. Give me a moment."

Zechs let out his breath in a rush. "Sure."

Treize scratched again, so Zechs gave him another redo, and the next shot actually sunk a ball into one of the pockets. "I got one!" Treize grinned.

"Yeah, but, that was one of mine," Zechs said with a laugh. "You're supposed to aim for the stripes."

"This game would be much simpler if I didn't have to always hit the white ball first. In fact, I'll go ahead and say it. Oh, should I?" Treize sipped his drink. "I think I shall say it. This game has entirely too many balls in it."

"Jesus, Treize." Zechs laughed again and swapped one of the stripes, the eleven, into the pocket and stuck the five that Treize had sunk back out on to the table. "How about this? I'll play standard rules, you play Treize rules."

"What are Treize rules?"

"Aim for whatever you like."

"That seems patronizing but possibly more entertaining than abject defeat." Treize set the end of his pool stick right up against the thirteen and banked it wildly around the table. He did manage to hit the cue and knock it into the side pocket. Zechs gripped the edge of the table and doubled over laughing.

"It's not that funny," Treize protested, but he was laughing as well.

"Yeah." Zechs gasped for air. "It kind of is."

"There are many games at which I excel, you know."

"Just not pool."

"No," Treize chuckled. "Not pool."

Zechs finished the first pitcher at the same time the game ended; he'd won handily, and then entertained Treize by using trick shots to sink the remaining stripes. "Bounce it off this side, then get it into that corner," Treize demanded. Zechs complied and poured out a fresh cup, pleased to find that the second pitcher wasn't quite room temperature, even if it was no longer cold.

Treize watched as Zechs polished off the final shot, a tricking one where he hit every side before sending both the lone ten ball and the cue into opposite pockets. "You're very good at this," Treize said. He set aside empty glass. "Well, I lost. I'll claim my consolation prize now."

"Sure." Zechs brushed a quick kiss over his cheek. Although not catering to that type of thing, the Hi-Lo butted up against enough friendly bars in the area that he could risk it. The skinny-jean, plaid-shirt crew had two female members who'd been necking in the corner for the past five minutes anyway.

The bar had begun to swell with a larger crowd now and the din of voices mingled with the throbbing music to threaten even the oasis of quiet in the back. Zechs grabbed his pitcher and threaded a path for them back outside, where they could hunker down a claim on one of the tables beneath a terribly fake plastic palm tree. On the way he stopped by the bar, per Treize's request, and got him another drink. The boy seemed to be handling his alcohol well enough, better than Zechs, who was already starting to find the ground a bit sideways if he tried to move too quickly.

They sat outside at the table and talked a bit, or rather, Treize talked and Zechs listened. He got the boy started on a tirade against some of his classmates, whose names and attributes Zechs let flow over him in a comforting stream of noise. When Treize started to shift the conversation back around to him, asking about Zechs's favorite school subject, he just shrugged and instead asked, "How'd you end up with money? Noin giving you an allowance now?"

"Hardly," scoffed Treize. "If I tell you, it must remain a secret. Just between us, okay?"

Zechs poured himself another cup of beer and tried to ignore a sudden uneasy flutter. "Sure."

Treize ran his finger around the rim of the highball glass. "Marcy's been helping me make a little extra money on the side selling excess medication."

"What," said Zechs. He didn't ask it, not with that flat tone.

Treize shrugged. "It's something she does. Delaney gives her his Ritalin, so I've been giving her Wufei's medication, which is apparently popular enough that I saw a tidy little profit from the matter."

Zechs closed his eyes and counted to ten with excruciating slowness. At four, Treize said, "Milli? Do you feel ill?" and at six, "Did you drink too much?" and by eight, "Goodness, Milli, you couldn't possibly be upset with me, could you?"

"Yes," Zechs bit out. "That's precisely what I am, Treize. I _asked_ if you were on medication."

"And I said no." Treize started to lift the Long Island to his lips, but Zechs lunged across the table and caught his wrist.

"You can't drink if you're taking anything! Dammit, Treize. You lied to me. What are you on? Do you feel okay?"

"Milli," he said, with exaggerated patience. "I'm not taking any medication. I just told you that, didn't I? I've been swiping Wufei's, he's the one who is supposed to be taking it – literal chill pills, and they ought to up his dosage if you ask me."

Stupid Luna Armonia's mom thought it was okay to drink even though she popped Valium, and one day after school Luna and her sister Soris came over to Zechs's room with a plastic bag of booze, and they should have gotten caught sneaking back into the house at dawn with all the drunken stumbling and giggles they made, but they didn't. They didn't get caught, because stupid Luna Armonia's mom passed out on the sofa and never woke up because she mixed meds and booze, and Zechs should have known better than to trust either Meiran or Treize with a simple stupid question. How many times had he seen any of them standing right there at the nurse's station swallowing a little plastic cup of pills?

Zechs took in a breath and let it out slow. Treize did seem fine. He barely seemed tipsy. Zechs took his hand off the boy's wrist and watched him take a long, deliberate drink, with one dark brow lifted as if to say,_ See? All fine here, Milli. Stupid Luna Armonia's mom took half the bottle, that's why she never woke up._

"You should stop stealing Wufei's meds."

Treize rolled his eyes. "They pass them out like candy to anyone who asks, you know. That school nurse, she's not even smart enough to check to see if you've really swallowed, and the staff at the home just plunk them down and initial on the little chart like they're going to get a gold star at the end of the month. Really, I would hardly call it stealing."

"You know what I mean, Treize. If he needs them, he needs them."

"Oh, are you on his side again?" Treize asked, in arched, frosted tones.

"I don't know. It's not like that. Just, don't. If they give them to you instead, just take them. Like, actually take them. Okay?"

Dark eyes glittered malice and something fiery, a Meiran-like look that gave Zechs pause. "You always seem to care an awful lot about whatever Wufei is doing, even though he's always the one trying to keep us apart."

"Treize… Jesus. I told you it's complicated, didn't I? Look, if it's about the money, that's not a problem. Actually, that's great, if Marcy's dealing in 'scripts." Zechs talked fast, trying to throw Treize a distraction before he got stuck trying to argue his way out of what looked to be a jealous fit brewing. A jealous fit that he had no argument against, because it was so complicated it made his head hurt just to think about it.

Zechs rushed on, "I've got some stuff she might want, yeah? I'll bring it to you sometime. You can take a percentage for yourself." The pills he'd swiped from Doc weren't doing him much good stuffed between the mattress anyway. Might as well let someone else do the actual dirty work of turning straw into gold. Or, whatever.

Treize huffed. "Is that a bribe?"

"Maybe."

"Fine. I'll consider it." Treize tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. "They're finally playing decent music, or perhaps I've imbibed enough to tolerate it, but in either case I've grown weary of conversation and wish to be entertained in a different manner."

"What?" Zechs got to his feet with a bit less poise than Treize. Each drink just seemed to make him float, whereas Zechs grew slow and stumbling. It struck him as unfair.

"I want to dance," Treize said. "Take the beer with you, if you must."

"No, I can finish it." Zechs chugged quickly and lumbered after Treize into the cacophony.

The jukebox pulsed something with a lot of beat and not many words. An attempt had been made at some point to create an actual dance floor, but now one much abused and jittering ball of light made a few weak rotations in the ceiling of the side room. An explicably placed vending machine partially filled the vast open doorway to dispense snack cakes and potato chips to the hopelessly inebriated and beside it squatted the low, boxy profile of a cigarette vending machine, of the sort only found in places older than dirt. Zechs had never once known the thing to spit out the right pack. Want Newports? Here's some Camels. Fuck you too.

A horde of girls with glowing bracelets seemed to be dominating the music selection, judging from the possessive way they kept plugging quarters into the electronic jukebox and queuing up song selections. Now that Zechs got a closer look, as he and Treize edged around the mass of dancers, he saw a few of the girls were actually skinny-ass boys in entirely too much make up. Zechs considered his own appearance, glammed out for Treize's benefit, and amended that thought before it could really get going.

Alcohol proved to be liquid grace for Treize, who might be terrible at pool but proved a far better dancer than Zechs. After a few songs Zechs adjusted to the rhythm and managed to enjoy himself. He forgot to worry about keeping a distance between them, of making sure they weren't being stared at, and settled his hand on Treize's hip like it belonged there. Maybe it did.

Treize sent him to the bar to get shots without specifying what kind, and Zechs got him to laugh when he came back with two square glasses of redheaded slut. "You should have only gotten one!" Treize had to yell to be heard over the music, as close as they were to the warbling sound system. He tossed a hand out and caught the red streak in Zechs's hair, flashing that irresistible smile that was all flirt and tease and promise.

"I'll be right back!" Treize blew him a kiss before weaving through the crowd in search of the restrooms. Zechs bobbed uncomfortably by himself in the middle of the dance floor for a while, and then started working his way to the edge to wait for Treize to return. One of the too-thin boys in a black fishnet start making eyes at him, and Zechs turned his back in resolute rejection. He played the cigarette vending machine roulette and got a pack of Salems, which were at least menthol, even if they weren't his favorite brand, and pocketed his prize before Treize could see him with it. Kissing an ashtray, huh? Something to consider, at least.

The song switched over again on the jukebox, and Zechs realized with a sinking feeling of inevitability that it felt just like when Meiran left to get the popcorn refill. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Treize found a bad line, or got lost, or maybe the moon really was made of cheese and he could fly there on a rocket of dreams. Fuck._ You're an idiot, Milli._

Zechs picked his way back to the bathroom and braced for something entirely unpleasant but not unexpected. He'd been pushing his luck all night. Every time Treize paused just a breath too long between sentences, every time his eyes grew unfocused, every small gesture that seemed unlike him had been making Zechs flinch. Long overdue for a switch. With any luck he'd get Wufei and not Meiran, because then at least he could apologize and maybe, finally, say the right thing.

Only the bathroom was empty. Well, except for a rotund forty-something with a greasy ponytail and a tweed jacket using the urinal. Zechs backed out slowly. There was a line for the ladies room, as per usual, and he used the charming smile to get the next girl in line to check for Meiran which, in retrospect, would probably cause something of a fuss unless they just assumed butch and let it go at that. He retraced the path from the bathrooms to the dance floor, using his height to search the crowds and movingly slowly in case Treize had just gotten himself lost. Or Wufei didn't know where he was, or Meiran saw him and felt like picking a fight.

By the time he revisited the pool tables, squeezed through the line at the bar, and double-checked the dance floor, Zechs allowed himself to indulge in a sharp burst of panic. He kept seeing Wufei standing in the lobby of the theater, looking at all those posters, and the flash of fear he'd seen - this absolutely could not be happening. Not like this. Sure, he'd been expecting it, but Wufei hadn't - his last memory, what would it be? Walking home from school, the park, that fight, would he remembering seeing Zechs, there at the last minute, or was that already Treize, and Zechs just hadn't been looking for the switch? Zechs made another fast circuit of the bar, searching every corner and scanning the tops of the crowd. Not like this! He couldn't just _lose_ him. Absolutely couldn't be happening.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Don't mind me. I'll just be over here in my corner writing my little heart out. Until next time, thanks for reading and reviewing!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	77. Putting the Pieces Together

LSC / 02-28-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Seven: Putting the Pieces Together)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 77

**Putting the Pieces Together**

* * *

Outside on the patio, the plaid-shirted skinny-jeans crowd filled up the table he and Treize had been using. Zechs made a circuit underneath all the fake palm trees with the garish lights strung between them and big the bamboo umbrellas. Nothing. He tangled a hand through his hair and fought a wave of agonizing desperation. _Okay, Milli._ _Fucking think this out. You can do it._

Slouching both hands into the pockets of his leather jacket in an attempt to seem casual, Zechs meandered toward the exit. A bouncer he didn't recognize – _shit_ – checked through the IDs of some girls who were definitely young enough to be flashing fakes. He waved them all through with a lazy flick of his hand.

Zechs stepped up into range and caught the man's eye. "Hey. Did you see a guy about this tall, dark hair, blue jacket, go through?"

The man scrubbed a hand over his chin and shrugged. "Maybe."

Zechs grit his teeth and forced a rigid sort of smile. "Would have just been a few minutes ago."

"Dunno, maybe," the guy said again. He reached to take the license off an incoming set of college kids with matching Greek lettering emblazoned across their shirts.

Zechs glanced back at the bar for a moment before plunging out into the alley. The far end stopped dead against the back of another building, so that left only the short stretch out to the street beyond. He wove around an incoming group of revelers and called all three names, loud as he dared, although he doubted Treize would have left. Meiran seemed more likely to start yelling at the bartender or bouncer, demanding answers. Wufei was really the only one scared and stupid enough to runaway when he was lost. And he had that damn bus pass, so unless Zechs caught him fast enough… "Wufei!"

A small shadow flew into his path. "Peacecraft!" Wufei actually hugged him.

No, more like, clung to him for balance. Whereas Treize had been embodied grace, Wufei barely seemed able to stand. He swayed and lurched and Zechs tried to hold him steady. "Hey! There you are! Where did you think you were going?"

"I don't know!" Wufei's voice shot out tense and shaking, all wrapped up with a clear note of panic and the words mushed together in a drunken slur. "Where am I? Why am I dressed like this? I—" His hands tightened into the leather of Zechs's jacket as he tried to pull away, realized he couldn't keep his feet, and kept a frantic hold.

"It's okay," Zechs hasted to say. "You're out with me. See how I'm dressed? We were trying to match."

Wufei shook his head. He tried to break free of Zechs but got tangled in his own feet and nearly crashed to the asphalt. Zechs got both arms around him, but Wufei began to struggle again, like maybe he wanted to kiss the cement after all. "Let me go!"

"You don't want to get up close and personal with the alley outside a bar, Wufei. Trust me. Stand still for a second, just try to find your sea legs."

"I don't feel right," Wufei said. His shoulders trembled.

"It's okay. You're just drunk."

"What?" Shock slashed over his face. "But I don't drink. I've never drank. This is not _okay_." The word squeaked out of him.

"Sure it is. You're fine. Do you want to go back inside?"

Wufei shook his head.

"Okay. I know an all-night diner not that far from here. We can get some waffles and coffee in you. You'll see. It'll sober you up."

"No," said Wufei. He pulled his arm around and got a few attempts in at checking the time. Zechs helped him out, one hand to secure the smaller boy, another to gentle pull back the just a bit too long jacket sleeve. Wufei squinted at his wrist. "Where are my glasses?"

"Oh. I don't know. Check your pockets."

Wufei patted himself down. "Did I lose them?"

"I don't think so." Treize must have ditched them when he changed clothes, and Zechs had been too stupid to think about checking. He studied the seasick sailor way that Wufei couldn't keep steady and compared it to Treize's liquid grace – he would have cut Treize off if he'd known it'd be like this, but Treize had seemed _fine_. And Treize didn't need the glasses either, so Zechs added that to his growing list of considerations.

"What time is it? Can you see?"

"Sure." Zechs tipped the watch so he could catch it under the bare street light. "Don't freak out, okay? It's one."

"One."

"Yeah."

"In the morning."

"Yeah."

"And I'm at a bar."

Zechs nodded, feeling guilty.

Wufei stared up at him with dark, unfocused eyes. His throat bobbed through a nervous swallow. "Peacecraft," he said slowly. Each sound fell through the slur with apparently difficulty. Wufei's hands tightened convulsively over Zechs's wrists, digging into the leather bands hidden below the jacket cuffs, but Zechs refused to flinch or pull away. "Peacecraft. In my wallet is a business card for Lucrezia Noin. Please call the number on the reverse."

"What?" Zechs mistrusted the strange, blank look on the boy's face. "Why?"

"Because I need her help."

A bolt of worry shot through him. "No, you're fine," Zechs said quickly. "You're not lost. I know exactly where we are. You're with me, and you've been with me the whole evening, okay? I just let you out of my sight for a second and, yeah, I'm really sorry about it. I shouldn't have let you go off like that. I shouldn't have let you drink so much either. I didn't know, but now I do, so. You're fine."

Yes, he was rambling. Zechs clapped his mouth shut before he did something even stupider, like kiss those just-parted lips, because he had to remind his beer-addled brain that Wufei was the one tipped back and staring at him and not Treize.

Wufei shook his head. A sudden trembling shattered through him, and Zechs resisted the overwhelming urge to fold that small body against his. Already Wufei was locked onto his arms like they were the only thing holding him afloat which, given the slight crooked sway, was likely close to the truth.

"Really, Wufei. It's fine. I'll get you back safe. Promise. Just calm down."

"I am calm!" Wufei snapped, with a small flash of his usual sternness.

Zechs didn't take offense at the harsh tone. "No, yeah, of course. I didn't mean it like that. You want to check out that diner? You really will feel better if you eat something."

"No," said Wufei, sounding cross and petulant about it. "I just want to go home."

"Sure." Zechs got Wufei moving with some degree of difficulty, considering an abrupt streak of stubbornness which made him reject Zechs's offered arm for balance. They walked in silence for awhile, Wufei with his head tucked low as if to check the unsure placement of each step.

"This is your fault, Peacecraft," he said at last. It tipped up toward in a question at the end.

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe."

"So I should be mad you."

"Are you?" Zechs glanced up and down the street. He started to set a hand against Wufei's shoulder, but the boy jerked away from the touch. He let his hand fall and started across the dark street.

"I don't know," Wufei said thickly. He wobbled off the curb and after Zechs. "I think so. Yes. I am. I have a lot of reasons to be, you know."

"I guess."

Wufei missed the lip of the opposite curb, either unable to see it in the gloom without his glasses, or simply too uncoordinated in his sudden inebriation to step clear. Zechs thought to catch him, and made a passable effort, but moved just a breath too slow due to the lazy effect alcohol always gave him. He was always too damn slow when drunk. Wufei went down with a sharp grunt of pain over a muffled oath.

"Shit. Sorry. Here," Zechs reached down a hand. "You okay?"

Wufei shot a glare up at him that was all Meiran, scum underneath her shoes style, and Zechs's breath caught with a swift rush of anger and fear. _Too soon!_ He'd barely gotten – but, no, it was Wufei still, who stiffly said, "I'm fine, Peacecraft." That glare was at last better than that eerie in between sort of daze earlier, when Wufei admitted to needing help, which was something Zechs definitely knew never happened.

Wufei ignored Zechs's assistance and fumbled, unable to gain his feet. Zechs knelt down and saw the toe of the boy's sneaker had gotten wedged into the storm drain. "Wait, hang on," he closed a hand over Wufei's foot and freed it.

"Ah," gasped Wufei. "That hurts."

"Does it?" Zechs pressed carefully at the joint.

"Dammit, Peacecraft! Didn't I just say it hurts?"

"Sorry. You must have twisted it when you fell. Do you think it's broken?"

Wufei grit his teeth and made a slight, jerking motion with his foot. "No." He allowed Zechs to help him to his feet this time. He winced terribly and nearly crumpled straight to the ground when he tried to put weight on his right ankle, however, and Zechs was able to catch him this time.

"Here, stop that," Zechs chided, seeing Wufei brace himself to try walking again. He bent slightly patted his shoulder. "Hop up."

"What?"

"I'll piggy-back you."

"Don't be absurd."

"Don't be stubborn."

Wufei crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Fine. Be that way." Zechs swung around and hoisted Wufei over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"Peacecraft!" His fists beat against Zechs's back. "Put me down this instant!"

"You're not that heavy."

"That is entirely beside the point!"

Zechs grinned and was glad that, dangling over behind him like he was, Wufei couldn't see. "I promised I'd get you back safe, didn't I? I'll carry you the whole way like this if I have to. Of course, you might not find it that comfortable…" He started walking to hammer the point home.

"Peacecraft." Wufei went still, his voice suddenly shifting into something less angry and more urgent. "I will be ill if you continue this. You must put me down."

That took all the fun out of it pretty damn fast. Zechs gently slid Wufei back to the ground and kept a hand on his arm. "Sorry," he said, smile wiped from his face. Hard to tell under the noxious street lights, but Wufei's face looked a bit paler than normal. "You okay?"

"Fine," Wufei bit out. "Give me a moment."

"Getting the spins?"

"The what?"

"Dizzy," Zechs clarified.

"Oh. No. Not quite." Wufei took in a deep breath and let it out slow.

"Good."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Zechs became much too aware of his hand on Wufei, maybe because he had to stop it from making a stroking gesture up and down the coarse fabric. He cleared his throat for no reason and let his hand drop heavily to his side.

Wufei tested his ankle and winced. "All right," he said. "Turn around."

Zechs dropped enough for Wufei to clamor up on his back. "Careful with your hands, Peacecraft," Wufei warned. Some awkward shuffling followed in which Zechs sought a good grip under Wufei's knees and tried not to touch his thighs, and Wufei nearly fell off in his bristled attempt to minimize contact. Finally they settled out with Wufei's arms rested across his shoulders and legs wrapped tight around Zechs's waist, and he tried very hard not to think about the soft, slight weight. He tried equally hard to ignore the tickle of Wufei's breath against his ear.

By the third block, Wufei's grip grew lax and his head drooped into the crook of Zechs's shoulder. A quiet voice came as an intimacy against the bare skin of his neck. "I'm still mad at you, Peacecraft."

"I figured."

"You lied to me."

"Not really." Zechs hefted Wufei's weight a bit higher against his back. "Number eight's tricky like that."

"Number what?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

Wufei huffed out a sigh that fluttered Zechs's hair. "Does drinking always make one feel this way?"

"What way?"

"Like I want to keep talking to you, even though I have nothing to say."

"Oh. Yeah. Hey, you remember that time I called you and said a whole slew of stupid things? I mean. More so than usual."

"When I still thought you were at the hospital? Yes. You sounded – Oh, I see. You were drunk?"

"Plastered."

Wufei chuckled slightly. His forehead pressed into Zechs's shoulder, and when he spoke again it came out muffled. "I do not think I like being drunk."

"I let you drink way too much. Next time I'll know better."

"Next time," Wufei said flatly. It hung between them.

"Yeah," said Zechs into the silence. It didn't sound half so scared as he felt, the longer Wufei just hung there and breathed against him without saying anything back.

At last Wufei spoke. "Yes. Well. Next time I'll know better, too."

"Sure. Hey, Wufei?"

"Yes, Peacecraft?"

"Just wanted to apologize. For, you know. Last time we talked. I was kind of a jerk."

"Oh. Well." Wufei lifted his head and sighed. "I was too."

"Nah. I deserved it. I should have told you about Duo earlier."

Wufei's arms tightened around his neck. "I don't want to talk about Maxwell."

"Oh. Okay. Sure."

"Well. I forgive you. Does drinking make you feel like this, too?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know." It had to be his imagination that Wufei's cheek seemed pressed into the back of his head. "Your hair smells like that bar. Smoky."

Okay, maybe not his imagination. "Yours probably does too."

"Really? Delightful. Peacecraft?"

"Yeah, Wufei?"

"I wasn't serious when I said not to call again. You could have, you know."

"I did."

"Did you?" Wufei sounded surprised.

"Yeah. Everyday. You weren't there."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I…" He faded into silence.

"Don't remember?" Zechs offered quietly.

"Yes," said Wufei. He leaned forward again, arms draping over Zechs's chest as he rested his chin into the dip of one shoulder. "What did we do tonight?"

Zechs swallowed, thinking of Treize's beckoning smile and the irresistible softness of his lips. "Nothing. Just. Hung out. Drank. Shot pool."

"Eightball or straight?"

Zechs laughed. "Wait, you know how to play?"

"Yes."

"Jesus. I should get the two of you to coordinate. We'd make a fortune hustling."

"Excuse me?" Wufei tipped forward enough that Zechs could get a look at him, frowning with that particular line of confusion between his brows.

"Nothing. Forget it." Zechs came to a stop underneath a bus stop sign bolted crookedly into place. Wufei wiggled free and Zechs reluctantly let him slide down so they could wait for the bus, which might be a long time coming given the late hour and limited routes.

Wufei hobbled awkwardly on one foot for a moment and then gripped both hands into the front of Zechs's jacket. "Sorry, Peacecraft."

"It's okay. How's your ankle?"

"Still sore." Wufei moved back as much as he could while still keeping a hold of Zechs for balance. He tipped his head down, hiding his face. "Did you really call everyday this week?"

"Yeah."

"And I wasn't there?"

Zechs shrugged. "Guess not."

Wufei's fingers curled into the leather. "How does drinking make you feel?"

"What?"

"You're drunk too, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"What's it like for you?"

"I'm not that drunk," Zechs said.

"That isn't what I asked."

The jet black bundle of hair, already bound sloppily by Treize to begin with, summoned Zechs to work free the tie and shake free the silky curtain. His hand rose and fell in an aborted gesture. He forced himself to look away, staring off toward the opposite end of the street rather than down at the delicate line of Wufei's tucked head.

"I guess it's nice," Zechs said. "Kind of heavy and slow, like moving underwater. Everything's distant and softer than usual. I feel warm inside."

"Yes," said Wufei. "Warm inside. That's it."

"Is that how you feel?"

Wufei lifted up his face and favored Zechs with an inscrutable stare. His lips parted, as if to speak, but then just hung there frozen open as a slow flush of pink blossomed across Wufei's face. "I don't know."

Zechs nodded at the approaching set of headlights. "Here comes the bus," he said quietly "Didn't take long at all. We lucked out."

"Oh. Yes." Wufei snatched his hands away from Zechs as if burned. "Lucky."

Zechs helped Wufei limp up the steps. Between the two of them digging change up out of pockets they had enough to cover Zechs's portion of the bus fare; Wufei just swiped his pass. Zechs got Wufei lowered into a seat but remained standing, one hand looped through the leather hand strap.

"You tired?" he asked, seeing Wufei stifle a yawn.

The boy nodded. "I'm never up this late."

"You can sleep in tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. I suppose." Wufei lolled his head back in the seat to look up at Zechs. "You've got that red in your hair again. Is it dyed?"

"Oh. No, it isn't." Zechs reached up and dug the clip out of hair. "See?" On impulse he leaned down and tugged free the hair tie, letting all that dark silk tumble forward just like he wanted. Zechs carefully brushed it out with his fingers and then threaded the clip through Wufei's hair instead. It settled against the side of his face and burnished like a streak of blood against the black.

Wufei's gaze seemed caught somewhere just south of Zechs's nose. "Oh," he said, very softly. "Yes." He brought a hand up to feel the hair extension and then began to search for the clip.

Zechs tangled his fingers against Wufei's and pulled the hand away. "Leave it. You can have it."

Wufei's eyes fell to their interlaced hands. He pulled slightly and Zechs let him go. "I'm glad you were here tonight, Peacecraft. Thank you."

"Sure," Zechs said. He closed both hands over the metal bar above to keep them out of further trouble. "I mean. I got you into trouble in the first place."

"Yes," said Wufei. "I've broken curfew."

"Oh. Don't worry about that. Delaney and Marcy were going to cover for you. You shouldn't get in trouble."

Wufei's brow squiggled together. "Why would they do that?"

"Oh. Yeah." Zechs found the pack of Salems in his pocket and offered it out. "You'll need to pay them back for the favor. That might not be enough, actually." Zechs searched and turned up his old half-crumbled pack with a few Newports left. "Take this one, too."

Wufei put both into the pocket of the blue jacket. "I didn't know you smoked, Peacecraft."

Zechs shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess."

Wufei nodded and yawned again. "Will I feel rotten in the morning?"

"Probably. Sorry."

"Anything I should do?"

"Drink a lot of water." Zechs tucked his head down to see out the front windshield, checking their progress. "Take some aspirin if your head hurts."

"I see. Very well. Do you drink often, then?"

Zechs shrugged again. "I guess. Enough. I mean, I obviously didn't at the hospital, so, making up for lost time or whatever. I don't know. " He toed at the rubber-grip floor of the bus. "Not really." But even as he said it, Zechs tried to think of a night in the last month he hadn't gone to bed at least a little tipsy. Excluding the night of that wretched hangover, after an attempt to drown out his misery where he'd drank enough vodka to kill himself and been surprised to wake up at all.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

"It doesn't matter."

"Well," said Wufei. He nudged his left foot up against Zechs's ankle in a small, playful sort of kick. "Next time I'll know better, right?"

"Sure."

They rode for a while in silence. Wufei rubbed at his eyes and blinked heavily, clearly fighting sleep, and Zechs stared out the window at the dark city, like he cared about anything other than Wufei's reflection in the glass. Eventually Zechs had to lean over and pull the stop cord. Using the steps for leverage, Wufei got into the piggyback and this time didn't fuss about where Zechs put his hands. Not that Zechs put them anywhere other than where was absolutely necessary.

After a longer stretch of silence, Wufei asked tentatively, "Peacecraft?"

"What?"

"Oh. Nothing. I just thought I may have made you upset."

"No," said Zechs.

Wufei settled against his shoulder. "I'm so tired. Will you keep talking to me?"

"Why?"

"I don't want to fall asleep."

Zechs turned to take the shortcut through the park. "You can if you want. I can probably keep you balanced back there all right."

"No. Nevermind, then."

"I didn't mean it like that. Sure, we can talk."

"I don't know what to say." A soft stretching sound escaped him with another yawn.

"Oh. Uh. Okay, what's your favorite food?"

"Food? I don't know. I like…" and then Wufei said a handful of sounds which made absolutely no sense to Zechs and had him assuming one of the two of them had taken a drunken plunge off the deep end.

"What?" he said. His words sounded okay.

"Oh." He repeated himself, like it would make more sense a second time around. "They're a type of dumpling. I guess they're a little like wontons. I don't know what it translated to."

"You speak Chinese?"

"No, of course not. I mean, I've forgotten most of it."

"Really? Were you born over there?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. My mother and grandparents spoke a little, that's all. When I was very young I would hear them. All I can really remember is the types of food we used to eat whenever I would visit. I know simple stuff. _Ni hao_, that's hello. Just that sort of thing. It was a very long time ago."

Zechs turned his head, trying to get a read on Wufei. He sounded flustered and had his head buried down into Zechs's shoulder. "Do you mind if I ask?"

"Ask what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't."

"I mean. What happened? You're, what's it, a ward of the state now, right?"

Pressed as close as they were, it was impossible for Zechs to miss the wave of tension that rolled through Wufei at the question. "Nevermind," said Zechs quickly. "Forget it. We can talk about something else."

"Peacecraft, put me down."

"What?"

"Down. Right now!" In contrast to his demand, Wufei's arms tightened around Zechs's neck in a vise-like grip. He shook terribly.

"Wufei? What is it?" Zechs tried to drop the smaller boy to the ground, but Wufei kept clinging to him. Zechs fought against the choking sensation and twisted, managing to swing Wufei off his back and down to the grass. He ended up bent nearly double, his neck and shoulders still trapped within the circle of the boy's grip. "Wufei! What's wrong?"

"Don't!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"I'm fine!" Wufei sucked in a rough breath.

"Sure. You're fine. Wufei, let me go, though, okay?" Zechs straightened out and got a good look at Wufei's face finally. Dark eyes gone huge and round stared back at him without really seeing him, and Zechs leaned close with a frown, like maybe he could see himself reflected back. Wufei seemed to be struggling, but he all stiff and rigid, immobile, so where did Zechs get the idea he was fighting something?

The tension left him all at once, and Wufei sagged with an outrush of breath. Zechs took hold of the boy's arms so he wouldn't collapse. "Wufei?"

Wufei – shit, was it still Wufei? – shook his head slightly. "Yes. Fine," he said, in a hollow tone. "I'm fine."

Probably Wufei, but that sudden flash of doubt made Zechs realize what must have just happened. Curiosity welled within him. "You sure?"

"I just said I was, didn't I?" Wufei glowered up at him, which Zechs accepted graciously. "Do we much further to go?" He squinted doubtfully at the surrounding dark line of houses.

Zechs nodded toward the little cul-de-sac, not far away. "No. Not at all. How's your ankle? You want back up?"

Wufei tested it. "Give me your arm. I'll manage."

"If you're sure."

"I am," Wufei said, with a distinct edge. When they passed under a street lamp, however, Zechs saw the faint suffusion of color across the boy's face. Well, that was okay; he'd be embarrassed too, caught in the middle of an attempted switch like that. Or, whatever it had been. Zechs had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out a series of harmful questions. Just something else to consider, like the glasses and the drinking.

The halfway house was just as quiet as the other homes on the street, but lights were still on downstairs. Wufei hesitated at the end of the neighboring driveway, bringing Zechs up short since they were arm-in-arm. "How am I to get inside without being noticed?"

Zechs considered the house for a moment. "We'll figure something out. Come on."

Wufei limped along with him to the back of the house, and the two of them pressed close to the outside walls to avoid being seen. Zechs stared up at the second floor windows and then eyed the covered porch directly above the kitchen's sliding glass doors. He counted the windows again, looking at them carefully, and noticed one of them was propped a half foot open. The bathroom window, if he remembered the layout of the upstairs well enough.

"If I boost you up," Zechs whispered. "You can get in through that window."

Wufei squinted at the porch cover. "Is it safe?"

"Do Marcy and Delaney ever sneak out?"

"Yes."

"Then it's probably safe. See? They left it open for you."

"If you say so," Wufei said. "What about my ankle?"

"I won't let you fall," Zechs assured him. "All else fails I'll go ding-dong ditch the front door and you can try sneaking in through the backdoor, if it's unlocked."

"It probably isn't. So, if you think that's safe." Wufei looked up at Zechs. The stripe of red in his hair caught the darkness. "Will you call me tomorrow?"

"I'll try," Zechs said, thinking of Meiran. "Write me a favorable review in your journal, okay?"

"What? Oh. Okay." Wufei hesitated again, looking between Zechs and the half-open window, which, from the way his eyes unfocused at it, he probably couldn't see clearly, if at all. "I said several cruel things to Treize. He's doubtlessly angry at you again, but…"

"Oh. No, it's fine. We're okay, me and him."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I, uh. Don't worry about it. I mean. Is that going to be okay?"

Wufei stared at him again with something unfathomable in the dark depths of his eyes. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it. Is that all right?"

"Oh. No, yeah. Sure. Of course, I guess." Zechs shrugged.

"Yes, well." Wufei nodded toward the house. "I best get back inside."

Zechs knelt low and interlaced his fingers to provide Wufei a hand hold. He gripped Zechs's shoulder, fingers digging into the leather, and it was a few tense, wobbly seconds before Wufei got himself awkwardly up and on top of the porch roof. Zechs stayed down in the yard and watched as Wufei part limped, part crawled over to the open window.

Zechs waited a bit longer. He thought about lightning up a cigarette, and had his hands searching through his empty pockets before remembering. Eventually Wufei appeared at the window again. He'd found his glasses; Treize hadn't lost them after all. Zechs lifted his hand in a wave, which Wufei returned before easing the window shut. He waved again and disappeared from view.

All the long walk back – a very long walk, because Zechs lacked even pocket fuzz for the bus fare, and Heero Yuy lived way out on the western edge of the city – he kept replaying that final image of Wufei in the window, hair down and streaked red, glasses on, something like a smile on his face. And when he finally got back to the apartment and realized he was locked out, Zechs just sat on the front step to wait, because everything kind of seemed okay even if it wasn't – like maybe he'd finally managed to say the right things for once.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! Might take me some time on the next update; things are going to be getting a little busy at my house. I wanted to wrap up this little arc, with Zechs and the Trio, before being unable to write for a few days – I was going to feel terrible if I left it on a cliffhanger like that. So I feel pretty accomplished. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	78. Encounter

LSC / 04-24-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Eight: Encounter)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 78

**Encounter**

* * *

He woke when Heero did, as usual, because no matter how quiet the boy tried to be, the sound of him getting ready for work stirred Quatre out of sleep. He didn't mind sleeping on the sofa otherwise, even though it smelled a bit musty and sometimes a rogue spring stabbed up into his hip. The routine came as a comfort, though, as he and Heero shared breakfast over the kitchen counter in silence. Living in close quarters with him had taught Quatre a few things about the rather mysterious Heero. For all his time at the hospital, he'd heard plenty of conjecture regarding Heero, and most of that coming from Wufei's biased opinion.

At the sink, Heero rinsed their cereal bowls and set them to one side. _Work_, his calendar said, _7am - 6pm_. "Oh, you've got the day off tomorrow," Quatre said.

Heero nodded. He dried his hands on a towel. With an idle touch, he checked the stove was in the off position, despite not having gone near it to make their breakfast.

"Okay," said Quatre cheerily. He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter. "Bye, Heero. Have fun at work."

He always told Heero that, even though it earned him an odd look. "Goodbye," he said to Quatre before leaving.

Quatre looked over at the closed bedroom doors. Duo would be some time yet in waking, and Zechs only got up early on Sundays. Stretching his arms up over his head with a yawn, Quatre considered curling back on the sofa for a nap.

A sudden knock on the door puzzled Quatre. Had Heero forgotten something, like maybe his house keys? Quatre glanced at the bowl on the small stand by the door, where Heero always put his keys when he came home. It was empty. Quatre got up and went to the door.

"Hey," said Zechs. He stepped past Quatre and into the apartment. A not too unpleasant odor clung to him, something like cigarettes and rain.

Quatre closed the door after him. "Did you go out this morning? I didn't hear you get up."

"Nah," Zechs shrugged out of a leather jacket. "Been out all night. Fucking security door. Like he's got anything worth stealing."

Quatre couldn't be absolutely sure, but the clothes the older boy wore didn't seem to be the same ones he'd left wearing yesterday. "Oh," he said. "All night? You could have woken me."

"Whatever. Figured Heero'd be down at dawn anyway."

Quatre drifted after Zechs into the kitchen. "I'm sorry."

Zechs threw open the fridge and stared at the contents. After a moment he dragged the milk out and took the cap off with a lazy twist. He drank straight out of the jug, throat working through several long gulps. "What're you sorry for?" he demanded, once finished chugging.

"Oh. I don't know."

Zechs slung the milk back into place before nudging the door closed with a hip. "Duo asleep still?"

Quatre nodded. Zechs pulled down a box of cereal and then popped open the cardboard flaps. Quatre watched as Zechs ate handfuls of frosted shredded wheat straight out of the box. He started to offer Zechs a bowl and spoon but suddenly thought better of it.

"I'm probably jinxing this by saying it, but Duo's been quiet as hell lately. Maybe getting the shit beat out of him by Heero taught him a lesson."

Quatre shifted uncomfortably, recalling their sudden fight earlier in the week. Duo had been edgy and irritable all day, bullying Heero with rudeness until finally the other boy snapped. He and Zechs had sat in the living room over the pile of cards in awkward silence, right up until they heard Heero's nightstand crashing and the sound of Duo's yelling. After Heero chased them out of the room again, there'd been only a long stretch of even more awkward silence, punctuated by Zechs making several suggestive hand gestures.

"Um," said Quatre. It was true that the very next day Duo was oddly quiet and calm. He didn't seem mad at Heero, at least. In fact, the two of them seemed to be getting along better. "I guess," he said to Zechs.

"Whatever." Zechs tipped the box toward him in offer. Quatre shook his head. Zechs shrugged. "Hey," he said. "So, what. You okay and everything?"

"Huh? Me?"

"Sure. I, uh." Zechs closed up the cereal and then set it back on top of the refrigerator. "I'm sorry if I got you into trouble last week. With the drinking game."

"Oh." Quatre felt his face heating. "No. It's okay."

"I'm being serious." Zechs folded his arms over his chest and regarded Quatre carefully. "You guys didn't break up over that, did you?"

Quatre hesitated before slowly shaking his head. Even as he did so, however, he recalled the terribly difficult conversation with Trowa.

"Uh-huh," said Zechs. "You want to talk about it?"

Quatre shook his head again.

"Okay." Zechs shrugged. "Offer stands then, I guess. Well. Sure. I'm going to go shower and crash."

Quatre nearly called him back. The older by seemed in a better mood than in days, maybe weeks, and the offered kindness touched him. But Quatre had nothing to say. Nothing he could say, at least, or ask and receive a helpful answer. Zechs had said it himself, _I don't know Trowa. I don't know why he did it._

* * *

A soggy bundle of crust broke free of the pie plate beneath the scrubber's bristles and floated up among the suds cresting the sink full of water. He attacked the plate with renewed vengeance before setting it into the rack for the sanitizer. Trowa brushed the edge of his sleeve against his forehead to mop the faint sheen of sweat off before spraying down the next stubborn set of dishes. Scrub, rinse, load, push, pull, steam, drag – he let himself get lost in the steady, dependable rhythm of work.

Trowa could feel the weight of Catherine's gaze on him. He'd felt it all week, in fact. It was about the only thing he could feel. He loaded the final rack of dishes into the sanitizer and, while he waited for the forty-five count to be over, turned to look over at her. She stood just across the kitchen, one hand looped through her bag and the other fluffing the soft waves of her hair. She was talking with her waitress friend, Sara of the frosted pink hair, but her eyes were locked on Trowa. He jerked his gaze back to the sanitizer and lifted up the hatches. Steam roiled out and threatened to burn him as he leaned in to grab the dish rack.

Catherine's footsteps, suddenly much closer than he would have thought. "Are you ready?"

Trowa slipped the apron off over his head and went to hang up on the hook in the back. She trailed after him, calling her goodbyes, and they stepped out together into the back parking lot. Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked. Catherine rattled out her keys and swung them out by the plastic dolphin towards him. "Did you want to drive, Trowa?"

_No. _He stopped at the passenger door and stared down at the lock.

"Are you sure…?"

Trowa stood and waited for the lock to pop. He got into the car beside Catherine and fastened his seat belt. She kept the radio off, and Trowa braced for her assaulting him with questions. He could feel her gathering them behind a facade of patience and kindness. He could feel that, it was like her constant long looks and questions, always asking – _Did you want to borrow the car? Should I cook for three tonight? Trowa, where's Quatre? Is everything all right, Trowa?_

"I was thinking," Catherine said. She waited, like maybe Trowa was going to at least turn his face away from the window. He was too busy watching a dark cloud of birds settle into a thick black blanket across a parking lot across the way. If he didn't look at her, she might let it drop, no matter what she'd been thinking. He didn't like where her thoughts kept going. They struck too close to what his were trying to avoid.

"For your birthday, do you want to have a party or anything? I could invite Sara, from work, and even Gloria, she likes you. And maybe that other dishwasher, what's his name, Juan? I saw him talking to you the other day. He seems nice enough. And," she hesitated, so he knew what to expect, "we could invite Quatre. And anyone else you'd like. Who were those two friends of Quatre's, the ones who came in for lunch that one time? I didn't catch their names… Anyway. What do you think, Trowa? We could do it that Saturday, the fifth."

That caught Trowa's attention. He took in a quick breath and felt a rush of panic. Any day but that one. He'd promised Quatre – Quatre had promised _him_ and all Trowa had to promise was that he'd been there to answer the phone. A promise that weighed him down just as much as Catherine's gaze all week long, and Trowa knew he couldn't manage another week of this. He swallowed and tasted something like fear.

"We don't have to…" Catherine said with a clear note of defeat in her tone. "It was just an idea. We had that party for your seventh birthday, do you remember?"

Trowa did remember and wished she would stop talking. He did not want to take a trip down memory lane.

"That was fun," she said. "But we couldn't do anything for you next year, not with Dad sick, and… Did you have a party for your ninth birthday, maybe? I don't remember. Was that the only birthday party you've ever had, I wonder? I mean, besides that time I drove cupcakes up to St Gabriel's over Fall Break but that wasn't really much of a party… Oh, we could have invited Quatre that time! You should have said— er, let me know. Well. That's okay. I guess I understand why you didn't…"

Trowa needed the car to stop so he could get out. His fingers curled against his thighs, the nails scratching into the denim fabric. He needed the car to stop right that instant. He took in another too-quick breath.

Catherine just kept right on talking. "Hey, Trowa? I didn't mean to give the impression that I, you know, disapproved or anything. About Quatre. Do you want to call – I mean, do you want me to call him for you when we get home? If you were worried about bothering him during the school week, today is Saturday, so… You can borrow the car if you want, too."

He needed the car to stop. He needed her to stop talking. Trowa curled his hands tighter, forming fists in which the curve of each nail dug painfully into his palms. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Could he not make it any clearer how much he just did _not_ want to talk about this? One more shallow gasp, because breathing was becoming increasingly difficult through the crushing hollow space where his heart should beat.

The sound of Catherine's voice washed over him without registering. Something he couldn't listen to anymore, about her father and his mother and all those silent years and, oh, Trowa, it's too bad your birthday is on a Thursday because you have your appointment but we can do something that evening and maybe we don't have to have a party if you don't want to, we can just have dinner together and are you sure don't want me to call Quatre for you?

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and Trowa jolted into action. Seat belt off, before he choked himself with it in his haste, one hand already on the car door handle. He heard Catherine's shock, heard her calling his name, but Trowa knew if he had to sit in that car for one single solitary second more he—

He started running. It didn't seem to matter where. Women in high heels and boys in sneakers and men in suits all leapt out his way with surprised exclamations. Trowa ran until the cold weight in his chest exploded into fevered panting, until his vision spotted over with black, until his legs turned to rubber, and he collapsed against the side of a building to catch his breath. He heaved air in and out and shook, maybe with exertion, maybe not.

Trowa wiped sweat from his face and found it slick with tears instead. The brick of the building dug through the fabric of his shirt and into the skin across his shoulders. Trowa tipped his head back and stared up, up at the sky and then down, along the line of the squat two-story structure. After several minutes spent catching his breath and easing out the tremors in his legs, Trowa pushed off the wall and started walking. He knew where he wanted to go now. His feet had already taken him in that direction.

Before long he started to worry about Catherine. Or, at least, he tried to worry. He thought about her bright, patient voice and the droning panic he'd felt trapped in that car with her. Still, she was his sister, and possibly frantic that he'd just run off like that. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping clear the grit of dry tears and the slick sensation of perspiration drying across his forehead.

Trowa got himself turned around and lost at some point, amid the forest of tall buildings, because while they served as a steady beacon to orientate himself, once among them he found the streets looked much the same. He ended up directly in front of the tall, dark one with the red fiberglass W at the very top. Trowa nearly just kept walking, because that had helped get him un-lost, but instead he came to rest in front of the revolving doors. The lobby inside looked dark and quiet. He stepped forward and set a hand against the glass.

It inched away from him. Trowa took another step forward, and then another, and then he was in the marble-tile lobby staring across an expansive length of space. A reception desk wrapped around the center and flanking the walls in the back were shining gold elevator doors. The woman perched behind the desk looked up from her counter to stare at Trowa.

He wasn't sure what he expected. It looked like any regular office building. _Excuse me, ma'am, but do you know Quatre Winner? Winner. As in the name plastered over the side of this building._

Trowa turned and went back around through the revolving door. The wind caught a loose sheaf of paper and threw it against the ankle of his jeans for a moment before it ripped free and went sailing off into the street. He crossed a few streets, and then his quick, purposeful steps slowed to a grinding halt.

The dumpster already lay crooked, pushed free to expose the back access door, and Trowa slipped inside with his heart beating wildly, just as it had earlier after his mad run. He stood there staring up at the stairs for the longest time before beginning a slow climb.

He should turn around and go back. But he took another step forward.

Maybe it was better to wait. He gripped the handrail between the first and second floor landing.

He couldn't go back. He just couldn't. It struck him as somewhat ironic. He couldn't keep his promise and still keep his promise – he could not stand another week of waiting, of not knowing, and he'd rather face a potential fight than walk out of that building to spend another week alone. The dark waves threatened to pull him out to sea otherwise, and hadn't he promised…?

Trowa set a hand against the door. The room beyond was silent. He gripped the knob and –

It was locked.

Trowa pulled his hand back with a jolt of surprise. He didn't know it could lock. He took a step back. When the sound of his own heartbeat descended out of its loud rush, Trowa heard the barely-there softness of conversation. Not from the locked room, but the other one, the little exam room to which he'd carried Quatre that one time.

Moving with silent grace, Trowa approached the door and pressed his ear close as he dared to the crack between the door and frame. The voices within lifted in volume, just enough for him to determine that none of them sounded familiar - except, wait, maybe that one. Trowa crouched slightly to make his position more comfortable.

The almost-familiar one spoke again, "You'll simply have to make do, Trant. I can't make that anymore clear to you."

"You told me you hadn't seen him." Trowa got the impression that this second speaker might be around his age, sharp-edged and furious, in contrast to the first voice, the one he might recognize if he listened more.

"Well, I lied," the man said. No remorse or apology colored the words.

_The doctor!_ Trowa realized with a start. That's who the voice belong to, the doctor.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Haven't the slightest," the doctor said. "I didn't know where he'd gone in the first place. I'm sure you have a much better idea of where he might be than I ever would."

"And why's that? Why would I care anything about that fag?"

"Now, Trant. Is that really any way to talk about your best friend?"

"He ain't my friend."

Trowa took a silent step backward. He looked again to the locked door, the one which was never locked, not even when the three of them got drunk and Quatre cried. Something wasn't right here. He retreated further, trying to be quiet. The exam room door jerked open. He hadn't been silent enough, or maybe the two voices inside had wrapped up their conversation already.

The doctor leaned out the doorway of the exam room. He wore a plain polo shirt and neatly pressed khaki pants. He frowned at Trowa in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

Trowa just stared back at him.

Something clicked in the man's face. "I know you. You came before."

"Is it him?" called the other voice, drifting out from the room.

Trowa took a step back, but the doctor was between him and the stairs. Behind him lay only the bare stretch of hall and a few doors, one of which was the restroom, and Trowa did not know where the others went but figured now was not the time to be finding out. His eyes flicked from the doctor to the stairs to the door.

"It's not him," the doctor said. He stepped out into the hall.

"Who is it, then?" A boy appeared to fill the vacated space of the doorframe. Sharp features battled for space amid an oval face, and his most distinguishing feature was a long white scar across one cheek. "Who's this?" he asked, looking at Trowa.

They were both staring at him.

_Oh. Oh, no._

"You're friends with Zechs, aren't you?" The doctor spoke kindly. Trowa flashed instantly to every therapist he ever had. It was precisely that same sort of wheeling tone. "Were you looking for him?" He nodded toward the mini-apartment's door.

Trowa shook his head slowly. _No, not Zechs._

The doctor just smiled and jangled a set of keys out of his pocket. "Well, no need to be skittish."

"What the fuck, Doc?" The boy grabbed the doctor's arm. "We ain't through talking yet."

"This will only take a minute, Trant."

The boy scowled over toward Trowa. "D'you think he knows where…?"

The doctor patted the boy's hand before pulling it away from his sleeve. "A moment, Trant. Please." He stepped toward Trowa, who moved back the same distance. The man went to the locked door and inserted one of the keys.

Trowa hesitated. Nothing about this seemed right.

"Come along, then. Don't you want to see your friends?"

Trowa shook his head again. They weren't in the room. He wasn't stupid. People often thought he might be, since he never said anything, but they were wrong. The doctor kept his hand on the door knob, poised to open it. "Trant," he said, the false sweetness snapping out in favor of something harsh and cruel, so clearly evident even with just those simple sounds.

The boy, Trant, came forward on command. Before Trowa could really even think about running or struggling or really doing much of anything, the two of them grabbed his arms and hauled him through the door. Trant shoved Trowa hard enough that he stumbled, and when he whirled around the door had latched shut with all three of them in the room. The empty room, so obviously empty, because he wasn't stupid and knew that had to be the case.

It didn't look especially different. The squiggly little note that Quatre had written what seemed ages ago (_gone with trowa_, and a crooked smiley face) was still stuck to the side of the television. And Duo might have just picked up his stuff from its usual exploded mess in one corner, but Trowa doubted that. A deep sense of unease filled him.

_Where is Quatre?_

"That motherfucker," Trant said. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Now, now," said the doctor mildly. He made a strange gesture with two fingers, as if pulling away a cigarette. "No need for that."

"Aren't you just as pissed?"

"Of course not." The doctor smiled at Trowa. "Maybe you should wait in the hall, Trant."

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing. He glared at Trowa.

"We're having a small difficulty here," the doctor said. The pleasant therapy voice was back. "Maybe you can help us with it. What's your name?"

_I never should have come here. _

"No need to be like that." The doctor smiled again, placating, a look that Trowa recognized on all the kind-voiced therapists who had cajoled him to speak as a child, back when they still sometimes thought that he might if they only polished up a bright smile. "I just want to ask you a few questions."

"Maybe the kid's fucking retarded," Trant said.

"I will make you wait in the hall," the doctor hissed. "Be quiet."

"Ask him in Spanish or some shit. Maybe he just can't understand you."

Trowa looked between the two of them. He pressed lightly at his throat and shook his head.

"Ask him it in sign language," Trant said.

The doctor frowned at Trowa with a clinical sort of precision. Trowa recognized that look as well. It matched the sickly sweet therapist tone. Trowa tapped his ear and nodded, to show that he could hear them perfectly fine. He'd run the gauntlet of every hearing test imaginable years ago, and although there had been a few attempts to teach him otherwise, Trowa never put any effort into sign language. Just the simple things he came up with for his own purposes, to communicate with Duo and Wufei back in the hospital.

Trowa glanced past the doctor to the door. Clearly they were more concerned with Zechs's location than Quatre's, but it seemed inconceivable to him that the three of them hadn't all left together. If Quatre wasn't here, then Trowa had no reason to be, and he needed to leave. A sudden thought of his sister dosed Trowa with guilt. She'd be frantic.

Trowa gestured toward the door._ I don't know where they are, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you._

"No way," said Trant. "He knows something, Doc."

"I don't think so," replied the doctor. He motioned Trant to the side. "If he came here looking for them, he's just in the same situation we are. Isn't that right?"

Trowa regarded the doctor carefully before nodding.

The doctor stepped forward. There was a sudden awkward shuffling, as the doctor made to grab Trowa's arm, and Trowa kept shifting out of range. Finally Trant jumped in to help, and Trowa found himself pinned between them again.

"Zechs took something of mine," the doctor said.

"Yours!" Trant growled. "It's my fucking supply he—"

"Ours." The doctor soothed out the word with a smile that slithered along Trowa's spine. "The point being, we need to find him. Trant's obviously upset. I think you can see that. Now, maybe you don't care what happens to Zechs. You came with that little blonde thing, isn't that right? The benzo addict. Runaways, I think? Yes?" The doctor's mouth spread again, the lips curling into an expression that Trowa refused to think of as a smile. "I have certain obligations as a doctor, you know."

Trowa stared at the man.

"If Trant here goes looking for Zechs and finds these poor runaways, I'd have no choice but to notify the proper authorities. For their own good, you understand. Zechs's as well. He's a deeply troubled young man. Keep that in mind," the doctor said. He nodded to Trant, and Trowa found his path to the door suddenly unhindered.

Trowa felt eyes follow him, sharp as any blade against his back. He took the stairs down two at a time, eager to be away, and as soon as he hit the alley Trowa fought against the urge to run. Throwing a shoulder into the dumpster, he shoved it flush against the wall of the building. Out of spite, mostly, as if that token gesture would contain the threat within.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Hello! Sorry to have gone so long without updating. I knew I was going to be somewhat busy through March, but all that stuff plus a bunch of extra things popped up as well. Oh dear. I hope you weren't fretting too much!

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. I'm stoked to see new readers popping up as well! That's super awesome.

I'm still rather busy. The next two weeks are going to be very frantic indeed. I'll do my best, though! Until next time. Thanks again for reading!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	79. Silence

LSC / 04-29-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Seventy-Nine: Silence)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 79

**Silence**

* * *

Every light and lamp in the apartment blazed, despite the sunny sky casting long rays of light through the windows. Catherine sat on the sofa, facing the door, so there was really no escaping once he'd come this far. Trowa stepped inside and slowly pushed the door closed behind him.

Relief flashed over his sister's face. She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow and deep breath. Trowa remained by the door, frozen in place by her lack of any other reaction. At least she hadn't called the cops. She didn't seem to be crying, either. He had to take that as a good sign.

When Catherine kept silent, Trowa cautiously moved further into the apartment. He thought maybe to walk past her, to go into his room and maybe study, as he drew close to the sofa she spoke. "Trowa. Sit down."

He did so immediately.

"I need to talk to you," she said. A file of paperwork lay in her lap, the containing folder black with a glossy, embossed monogram. "Is that all right?"

He nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie.

Catherine looked down at the papers in her lap. "I was going to wait. Make it a surprise, I guess. It doesn't matter. Here," she said. She handed him the folder. "Happy Birthday."

Trowa took the folder.

"Go on, open it."

The sheets of paper inside made very little sense to him. His eyes scanned over the complicated legal and financial jargon. Flipping through he saw bank statements, with long numbers, and on nearly every page his own name, over and over again, mixed in with the other names in his family. Catherine, her father, his mother. Trowa glanced at his sister through the fringing shadow of his bangs.

"It's all yours," she said. "Soon as you're eighteen."

Trowa shook his head, to show he did not understand, and closed the folder.

Catherine reached over and set her hand on his knee. Her voice came out gentle, patient as always. "When my father died, he left almost everything to your mother."

Slowly, Trowa's heart began to pick up speed. He had a sudden sense of dread. He could guess the end of this story, even before it had really begun.

"When she died it all became yours. That's what's in here." She tapped the file folder. "It's been in a trust this whole time. I'm your legal guardian, so, I did take some out to pay for your, er, medical expenses, but that's about the only thing I've been allowed to do with it. It's yours," she said, with some emphasis. "I thought maybe you could use some of the money to pay for college, when you're ready. Even with the money taken out for your hospital bills you've enough left over for any school you want, even a private one. More than enough."

If Catherine felt bitter that all her father's fortune went to her strange, silent brother, it certainly didn't come across in her tone. No touch of jealousy or anger clouded her face, the features softening into a smile even as Trowa studied her.

"I feel like I've been dishonest with you. I never meant for it to come across that way. I just… What's going to happen to us?" She picked up the folder and held it up between them. "You're my little brother. You're all the family I have. What am I supposed to do when you don't need me anymore? Who's going to look after you? I'm sorry, Trowa, I put off telling you so long because I didn't _want_ to tell you."

_Well, I don't want the money. We're even._

Trowa surged to his feet. Her eyes followed the movement with a tremble of apprehension. "Are you upset? Trowa, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

Catherine's face twisted with regret as she sought his forgiveness. Forgive her for what? He didn't want the money. His stomach churned easily. It wasn't right.

Trowa recalled suddenly his mother's funeral. He remembered the rows of the church filled with pretty young women in black designer dresses, his mother's friends, who wept and sniffled and brushed mascara-smeared tears from their cheeks with silk. The two teenagers sitting in the front row must have seemed strangers to them. Right after her husband passed away, Trowa's mother wasted no time in sending Catherine to an all-girl's boarding school, so as not to disturb her widowhood. As for Trowa, well, he never made a sound, even if she complained all the same about him being underfoot in the big silent house.

And Trowa remembered his own callous dismissal of Quatre's objections, when he proposed they go off on their own. _She's your sister_, Quatre had said. And what had Trowa answered, without even thinking? _We're not related._

Trowa abruptly turned away from her. He fled, rather than listen to another single moment of her excruciating kindness. Catherine said nothing, did not call his name, did not even sigh as he barreled down the hall to his bedroom. The door slamming shut was the loudest sound he'd ever made in the little apartment.

* * *

The long drive curved a path between the neat rows of tall, towering trees. Trowa pressed his face up close to the glass to better see the house when it appeared through a gap in the trees. A broad white porch wrapped the brickwork, bolstered by columns where the drive ended. He'd never seen a house so big before.

His mother eased the car to a halt and then took a moment to touch up her face in the rearview mirror. Her pretty features flexed around a few different expressions, turning her face this way and that to catch the dimpling smiles in the mirror. "Remember what we talked about," she told Trowa.

He nodded. Trowa knew his getting to come along today was special. Normally he didn't get to meet his mother's friends. When they came to visit their apartment, Trowa had to sit in the hall closet and be very quiet. Trowa was very good at being very quiet, because he liked trying to make his mother happy.

They got out of the car. The blue and white skirt of his mother's dress floated for a moment in the warm spring breeze before settling into a swirl against her legs. His mother took Trowa's hand and led him toward the house.

His mother's friend met then just inside the door. He was a tall man with a lot of grey in his hair, and when he smiled the corners of his eyes crinkled. Trowa's mother let go of his hand to hug her friend. They kissed as well.

Trowa looked around the man to where a little girl stood. She wore a yellow dress with capped sleeves ruffled with lace. She stared right back at Trowa with frank curiosity. Fluffy waves of chestnut hair fell to her shoulders, and her smile matched the man's. Trowa looked to his mother. He wanted to hide behind her skirt, but she stood close to her friend and had only eyes for him.

The tall man crouched somewhat, so that he and Trowa were roughly eye level. "Hello," he said. "You must be Trowa. I'm Mr. Bloom."

Trowa nodded.

The man reached back and pulled the little girl forward by the hand. "This is my daughter, Catherine."

"Hello," the girl said.

Trowa's mother smiled with one of the expressions she'd tried out in the car. "You're a very pretty girl, aren't you? Say hello, Trowa."

Trowa looked down at the intricate scrollwork design on the rug.

"He's shy," said Trowa's mother.

"Catherine, dear. Take Trowa up to your room and play."

"Okay, Daddy. Come on," she said to Trowa. She grabbed his hand and jerked him toward the stairs.

Trowa twisted his head around, trying to take in the inside of the big house. The girl dragged him up the staircase and down a long hallway. An overwhelming amount of pink had exploded over the girl's room. Pink curtains with white lace trim framed a broad window that overlooked the stretching backyard. The pink bedspread matched the gauzy pink canopy over the bed. It seemed a few years too young her. Trowa thought it ugly.

"This is my room," Catherine announced. It might have been the same size as Trowa's entire home.

Catherine picked up a floppy-eared rabbit off the floor. She thrust it toward him. "Let's play tea. You bring Reginald with you."

Trowa clutched the stuffed animal and nodded.

The girl went to the small play-table, pink and white like the rest. A doll missing one hand slumped inelegantly at one of the tiny chairs. The array of plastic dishes strewn across the surface betrayed a previous game interrupted. She sat in one of the chairs and beckoned Trowa.

"Good afternoon, Reginald. I see you brought company."

Trowa sat in the remaining chair. He arranged the rabbit in his lap.

Catherine held the plastic tea pot over his cup and saucer for a moment. "One lump or two?"

Trowa shrugged.

She pretended to drop two lumps, whatever those were, into his tea. "And you, Reginald?"

When Trowa just shrugged again, she dropped one more into the same cup. "Lovely weather," said Catherine. "Isn't it?"

Trowa nodded.

She raised the plastic cup to her lips and made a slurping sound. Trowa mimicked her. "Do you think the weather will hold?"

He didn't know what that meant, but he nodded anyway.

Catherine turned her attention to the stuffed animal in his lap. "Reginald, it is so lovely of you to come to tea and to have brought company. Did you want a scone?"

When Trowa started to nod, the girl threw her head back and forth to interrupt him. "No. No, you have to make Reginald say something. That's how the game is played."

Trowa looked down at the rabbit's floppy ears. He'd never played this game before. It didn't seem the same as Sit Quietly, or the new games he was learning at school, like Tag.

Catherine set her teacup aside. "What's the matter? Can't you talk?"

"No," said Trowa. "I can talk."

"How old are you?"

"Six."

"My dad wants to marry your mom. That's going to make you my brother. I always wanted a brother." She bounced to her feet. "Let's go play outside. I can show you my rabbits. My real ones, not like Reginald."

Trowa left the fake rabbit on the chair and followed her from the room. He wasn't sure how he felt about having a sister. It seemed like a nice idea, like maybe having a friend. Trowa liked that idea quite a bit.

"Do you like animals?"

Trowa followed her down the staircase. She couldn't see him nod, so when only silence drifted forward to meet her question, Catherine turned her head and fixed Trowa in place with a stare.

"Yes."

"Me too. I like dogs and cats and rabbits and horses. Most animals. Except frogs and toads. They're kind of gross."

"What about spiders?"

"Huh?" Catherine jumped the final two steps, landing into the scrollwork rug with a hollow sound.

He tried to mimic her great leap, but only did the very last stair. His feet made a similar sort of thud. "Do you like spiders?"

"Sure, I guess. Did you ever read Charlotte's Web?"

Trowa shook his head. He didn't know how to read yet.

"Really?" Catherine ushered him through the huge entryway and past a giant cabinet, at least three times as tall as Trowa. "I'll read it to you sometime, if you're scared of spiders. It's about a spider named Charlotte who's really good."

"I'm not scared of them."

"You sure?" Catherine cupped her hands together and turned to face him. "What if I had a spider here in my hands?"

Trowa looked her hands. She probably didn't have one.

Catherine stepped closer. "A big hairy spider with eight legs and a thousand eyes."

Maybe she had a pet spider. Surrounding them in the brightly lit room were glass display cases filled with crystalline dishware. Anyone of the cabinets would be the right size to house a spider, and he hadn't been watching her very closely. He'd been too busy staring at all the huge rooms with their high ceilings and elegant wallpaper.

Trowa made a small motion of retreat, just in case she really did have a spider in her hands.

She pressed forward with a wicked grin of amusement. "Are you scared?"

Trowa shook his head.

"Then..." Catherine lifted her hands. "Catch!"

Trowa bolted. With a shriek of laughter, the girl chased after him. "Come say hello to the spider!" Catherine shouted.

"No!"

She called in a sing-song voice, "You're scared of spiders! You're scared of spiders!"

"I am not!"

"Then why are you running? I'm gonna catch you!"

Her footsteps pattered after his with deliberate distance. Trowa ran because he'd figured out the point of the game. It was kind of like Tag. She didn't really have a spider, after all, and with her longer legs Catherine could easily catch him if she wanted. The point was for Trowa to run, so he did.

She chased him through a wide room dominated by a massive television, out from between a curling bar top, and back through the front entry with its scrollwork rug. Trowa hit up against a closed door that gave way to his slight weight, and then a solid wall of cloth that did not yield. Hands grabbed his shoulders and forced Trowa to a halt.

"Caught you!" Catherine cried in triumph. She hauled Trowa away from her father and held him close, and after a moment Trowa realized it was a hug.

Mr. Bloom laughed. "What are you two playing at, tearing around the house like banshees?"

"She has a spider," Trowa said.

The nodding motion of her head made her wavy curls brush against Trowa's cheek. "A big hairy one."

"With eight legs."

"And a thousand eyes," Catherine said.

The man smiled down at Trowa and his daughter. Trowa turned within the circle of Catherine's arms to spot his mother standing nearby.

"Well," she said. "Listen to the little chatterbox." Her mouth reclaimed the smile that dropped from Trowa's face.

Her father patted Catherine on the head with a great deal of indulgence. "I'm glad to see you're getting along, but don't run in the house," he said mildly. "You know better than that."

"Yes, Daddy." Catherine tugged Trowa along toward the door.

Trowa glanced over his shoulder as his mother. She was not very tall, because he knew a lot of people taller, like his kindergarten teacher and Mr. Bloom. Her russet hair, the same sort of color as his, was brushed up into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She had only two eyes and two legs. So his mother was not at all like a spider, and Trowa wondered why he thought otherwise in that moment.

Catherine took Trowa outside to show him the rabbits. Two of them contained in a large wood and wire hutch, all long ears and twitchy button noses. Catherine took the black and white one out and let Trowa hold it. The rabbit sat in his hands, soft and fluffy and docile, but Trowa became nervous he might accidentally drop it. He felt relief when Catherine put the rabbit back into its home. The rabbit didn't seem to care either way.

They took turns feeding the rabbits pieces of lettuce. Trowa found the frenetic little chewing motions adorable, with the way their noses and cheeks and whiskers all moved with the smallest sounds of contentment. Catherine explained to him all the responsibilities that went into caring for her pets, and how if Trowa wanted to be her brother than he needed to be ready to help. Trowa figured that if he got to feed them more lettuce than that would be okay by him.

In the middle of Catherine showing him how to refill the water bottle, their parents came outside to supervise the rest of the lesson. Already reticent in his replies, Trowa fell to silence under his mother's watchful eye.

"Do your rabbits have names?" his mother asked.

Catherine pointed at them in turn. "This one's Duchess, that's one's Daisy. I think Daisy might be a boy."

"Those are nice names," she replied, with a smile.

"Do you like them?" Catherine's father directed the question to Trowa.

Trowa slipped up against his mother's side, putting her between him and the tall man with kindly eyes. He tangled a hand into the fabric of his mother's skirt. Her hand reached down and brushed him away. "Answer Mr. Bloom," she chided.

Trowa nodded. His mother took him by the shoulder and steered him out from around her shadow. Trowa nodded again where they could see him.

"He's shy," his mother said, in that off-handed way of hers. She tipped toward Mr. Bloom and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Catherine. It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Catherine echoed. She eased the plastic water bottle back into its metal ringed holder.

His mother took Trowa's hand as they left. They'd hardly crossed the green expanse of yard when Catherine's shouted after them, "Goodbye! Goodbye!"

Trowa turned to look. She waved her hand back and forth through the air, as energetic and appealing as the rabbits' chewing motions. "Goodbye, Trowa! Come back soon!" she shouted. Without letting go of his mother's hand, Trowa lifted a hand to wave back.

Once back in the car and driving below the long lines of flanking trees, his mother spoke. "We're going to live in that house."

Trowa nodded.

"You're lucky Arthur likes kids. He actually wants an extra brat. Can you imagine?" She glanced over at him. "No. I guess not. You don't know anything."

His mother liked to talk to Trowa sometimes when they were alone. It was probably because he was such a good listener.

"I'd get rid of you in a heartbeat for all the money he has. You're a very lucky little boy. Don't tell anyone I said that."

* * *

Trowa did not like the smell of hospitals. The disinfectant bit at his eyes and throat, clawing up a wretched sort of misery and filling him with unease. He did not like the white walls and linoleum flooring nor did he like the nurses' smiles or the sound of their sensible work shoes. His mother's hand fit easily around his, pulling him inexorably down the long corridor.

"Remember what I told you," his mother said.

As if Trowa ever forgot. He always paid attention to his mother's words and did his best to heed them. Trowa tried to be a good boy, because she'd once told him what happened to bad boys who disobeyed their mothers.

The steady click and echoing clack of her shiny red heels broke over the other sounds of the hospital. Through the open doors they passed came the hum and beep and drip of machines. Trowa kept his eyes locked on the ground. The first time they'd come, he looked through each door into the rooms, some lit, some dark. Now he knew how much he did not like hospitals. He never wanted to be in another one ever again, so he hoped very fervently that Mr. Bloom got better after their visit today.

Trowa and his mother had gone to live in the big house with Catherine and her father after the wedding, which took place before the end of spring. When his mother and Mr. Bloom left for their honeymoon, Trowa stayed with Catherine in the big house with no one but their housekeeper, and that was fun. Catherine showed him all the ways to go against their parents' wishes, such as sneaking downstairs after bedtime, or eating dessert before dinner, or taking her rabbits up to her room for tea even though only fake animals were allowed inside. He was afraid at first, but Catherine promised that the housekeeper wouldn't tell. And she didn't, so it was fun. Trowa liked having a sister, he'd decided that before the end of the long, happy summer that he and Catherine shared. He liked having a sister, and he liked Mr. Bloom, because the man was nice to him and, best of all, his mother seemed happy.

When the air grew cold and the leaves changed colors, the big house covered itself in bright balloons and rows of streamers. His entire first grade class came to the birthday party, and Catherine's entire fifth grade class as well, and Trowa had never seen anything like it. There was cake with candles and everyone sang, and afterward Trowa went outside to find Catherine's pet rabbits and hide, because there were just too many people. She came out and sat with him and they fed Duchess and Daisy lettuce while the other children ran across the big yard and played the games for prizes and got their faces painted. So Trowa thought that was okay.

It snowed and then the snow melted into mud, and Catherine went with him to the very edge of the big house's big backyard to pick wildflowers. Trowa gave his mother a big bouquet of them, and she thanked him, so Trowa liked that. Catherine put hers in the middle of her pink play table, except sometime after Christmas and before her own birthday she stopped inviting Trowa to play Tea with her and the rabbits, real and fake. After her birthday the pink table went away, all the pink went away, and her room instead became a lovely blue sort of color the same shade as her eyes, or a sky just before the rain. Catherine informed Trowa with the wise tones of an older sister that playing with dolls was for little girls. They played new games, like Nail Painting or Music Listening, and when her friends came over she let him sit in her room with them, because he would sit quietly and not bother them, unlike the little brothers of her friends. Trowa was very good at sitting quietly, so that was okay, too.

Even though he was good at sitting quietly, Trowa hated going to the hospital with his mother. He didn't think it was okay that Mr. Bloom was in the hospital to begin with. It made Catherine sad and worried, so that she didn't even want to play any of their games anymore, and the big house seemed kind of lonely without the tall man with the kind smile.

Trowa's mother released his hand, and Trowa looked up expecting to be in the little hospital room. They were outside in the hall still, and his mother knelt down to look him in the eye. She wore a serious expression. "Trowa," she said. She didn't often say his name like that.

He nodded, because he wasn't sure what else to do.

"This is very important."

He nodded again.

"Your father is sick, do you understand?"

Trowa hesitated. He did understand that Mr. Bloom was sick. That's why they had come to the hospital. He knew that Mr. Bloom had married his mother, too, and Catherine was now his sister and they all lived in the big house together. What he didn't understand was that he already had a father, a man he'd never met but loved anyway. He'd seen him in the pictures that his mother kept in her photo album, the one with all the pasted photos on the cover. He didn't understand how he could have two fathers, or what happened to the man in the pictures who had green eyes just like Trowa's. Trowa decided it was best just to nod anyway.

His mother smiled. "When we go inside to see him, I want you to tell him something. Can you do that? I want you to tell your father that you love him. He's very sick, so if you say that, it will make him feel better."

Well Trowa did want Mr. Bloom to get better. He wanted Catherine to run up and down the stairs, even though she wasn't supposed to run inside the house, and he wanted her to laugh and tease Trowa with fake spiders and play all their fun games like Look at Magazines and Which Boy Is Cutest. He did want that. He wouldn't have to come to the hospital anymore either, even though it was kind of nice to spend time with his mother. She was too busy to play any games with him, so they did things like Sit Quietly. And Trowa was very good at that game.

"Of course, he might not get better. Don't you want him to die thinking he had a son who loved him? Maybe he'll write you into the will. We stand to get a lot of money, you and I. Mostly me." The smile on her face widened. "Don't tell anyone I said that, of course."

Trowa's mother was looking at him, waiting for an answer, so Trowa nodded solemnly to show that he understood the question. "Good," she said. She took Trowa by the hand, and then they entered the little hospital room.

He didn't seem very tall anymore, lying in the bed. Trowa's mother kissed Mr. Bloom's cheek and prettied the flowers in one of the vases. Catherine's bad attempt at cursive, which she'd been learning in school, covered the front of several handmade cards that lined the windowsill. Some of them bore Trowa's blocky, childish lettering, because they'd played Make Cards for Dad last Saturday.

His mother set a hand on Trowa's shoulder and drew him forward. "Honey, look. Trowa's here."

He looked at the man in the bed. Trowa lifted his eyes to his mother, who smiled down at him with encouragement. She was pretty. Trowa had always thought his mother was pretty. Everyone always said that about her, all her friends. Trowa could hear them, when he sat quietly in the hall closet. In the pictures in the hidden photo album, she looked even prettier in the bright green dress with the big puffy sleeves and narrow skirt. The halo of auburn hair around her face seemed to glitter in the bright lights. And the man beside her was Trowa's father, the man with the green eyes and brown hair. Trowa liked to sneak into his mother's room and look at the pictures. He liked to see the two of them smiling together. That was his real father, for all that he liked Catherine's father.

"Go on," his mother said. "Didn't you have something to say?"

He knew what happened to boys who did not listen to their mothers. Trowa nodded. The man in the hospital bed looked at him. His mother looked at him.

Trowa opened his mouth to lie, but no sound came out.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

This is going to be short, because I'm very tired and it's been a long day. I just wanted to update as soon as I could, you know?

Thank you for reading! I probably had something else to say, but I forgot it.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	80. Effort

LSC / 04-30-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty: Effort)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 80

**Effort**

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey. Can I talk to Marcy?"

"I guess," the boy said. Zechs waited while a shuffling sound followed. In the background he heard a voice lifted in anger with the words indistinct.

After a long pause, a small burst of static preceded bright, feminine voice saying, "Yeah, what?"

"Hello, Marcy? This is Zechs."

"Oh, Really?" She smacked a piece of gum, the rubbery sound audible over the line. "Weren't you wanting Wufei or whatever?"

"Well, no. I asked for you."

"I'm flattered. Why?"

"I don't know. I mean, I do, but it's hard to explain."

"Something having to do with Wufei being hard to explain? Le shock." Sarcasm bled through the words.

Zechs shrugged, even though she couldn't see the gesture. "Is he there?"

"Who?"

"Wufei."

"Well, yeah. He's up in his room, I guess. Been there all day."

"Yeah. Okay. I mean, is it him or, you know."

"Oh, you wanna know who's the conductor on the crazy train? I - Hey, Delaney! Delaney! Come here! No, I ain't gonna come in there, you come here. Don't be a motherfucker. Oh, sorry, Mike," she called with a sing-song insincerity. "I'll ask Delaney," she explained to Zechs, as if he hadn't been able to hear her screeching.

"(Delaney, was it Wufei in your room when you got up? What do you mean you don't know? You're worthless. Thanks anyway.) Yeah. I dunno, Zechs."

"Oh. Huh."

"Kid's been in bed all day anyway."

"Is he not feeling well?"

"Nope."

"Shit. That's my fault too, I guess."

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. Thanks anyway. Well, I guess tell Wufei or Treize I called. Don't, uh, don't tell Meiran though."

"Oh-ho-ho. Yeah? That sounds like juicy gossip."

"Come on. I'll bring you a pack of smokes next time I see you. Just help me out here."

"Well, all right. Oh, yeah, Delaney wanted me to tell you he's more of a Marlboro Man type. Smokes wise, not like, bumfuckery. No offense. Anyway, I'm cool with Salems and shit. Or some cloves would be wicked."

"I'll see what I can do," Zechs said. "Thanks."

"Whatever."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey. Is Marcy there?"

"May I ask who is calling?"

Zechs stared at the telephone. He didn't recognize the voice, but if he had to guess it was probably one of the staff. "Uh. Allen. I'm a friend of hers at school."

"One moment, please."

An elastic snap and crack of gum followed. "Yo."

"Hi, Marcy?"

"Oh, it's you. Hey."

"Hey."

"Weird. I was just talking about you."

"You were?"

"Sure. With Treize. He was telling me about how you're a pool shark. That's pretty awesome."

"What? No. I... Okay. Well, great. Let me talk to Treize then."

"Nope. You poor bastard, you have the worst luck. He just left."

"What?"

"Yup. Soon as the phone rang. He's Meiran now. You want me to go grab her?"

"Fuck no. Shit. What do you mean, when the phone rang?"

Marcy worked her gum for a moment without answering. "You know. I was talking to Treize, the phone rang, and he's suddenly got pigtails and a bitch attitude."

"When the phone rang?"

"Isn't that what I just said? Oh, but I told Treize you called. He says hey. Actually he said a bunch of shit I ain't gonna repeat. (What? Oh. Sorry, Amber. I meant to say crap.) Anyway, you wanna talk to Meiran or not?"

"No. I better not. Dammit. How late can I call?"

"Tonight? I dunno. Like, nine, maybe? Curfew's ten but Courtney's working and she actually gives a sh- crap about the rules."

"Sure. Okay."

"See ya."

"Hello?"

Zechs slammed the phone back into the cradle, the metallic clatter a match to the frantic way his heart threw itself against his ribs. Only half a second too slow did he think he might have been mistaken. Oh, he recognized the voice right away. It was impossible not to. Maybe Wufei's forgotten his little, _Wufei speaking_ bit - but, no, every single time, ever since Zechs first blurted out his frustration, Wufei always remembered. And Treize never said hello like that, never that hostile and flat, he always curled out the words like a song. No. It'd been Meiran. He was sure of that.

_As soon as the phone rang, huh?_

Zechs kicked at the brick side of the building. _Son of a bitch! _And he'd forgotten to ask Marcy if Wufei had been around at all that day. Had he thought to write up a journal entry absolving Zechs of sin? But why else would it still always be Meiran? _Shit_. He was going to give Wufei a phobia of telephones if he kept this up, if Meiran kept switching in every fucking time one rang.

Dusky twilight fell away into streetlight infused darkness as he walked back to Heero Yuy's apartment. He sat out on the curb to finish his cigarette, fresh from the pack he'd lifted at the corner store several blocks away. It took some clever misdirection, so he couldn't do it too often, but old stupid habits were expensive. It'd taken him an hour of drifting through parking lots, eagle-eyeing the ground, to scrounge up enough change for the payphone. He missed the one downtown, by Doc's office, the one that spat back the coins if you were fast enough on the hang up. Not that he wanted to head back that way. Full of fucking poison, that whole end of town. Heero's neighborhood was shitty and run down, but whatever. Zechs sent up a plume of smoke and watched it drift away into the night. What-_fucking_-ever.

He flicked the tamped out butt into the street and then rang the buzzer to the building. Quatre answered, and when Zechs got upstairs he found the kid alone in the apartment.

"Duo and Heero went to the basement to do laundry," Quatre explained.

"Huh," said Zechs. Several of Duo's newest drawings littered the bar top that served the separate the kitchen space from the rest of the apartment. Zechs dragged hand through them, revealing two different versions of Heero's scowl and one bizarre landscape that seemed to be invoking those weird melting clocks. Art history had never been a strong suite of his. Duo probably knew, despite all he seemed like an idiot. Well, he had to, he'd drawn the damn thing.

Quatre reclaimed his seat on the sofa, with his teddy bear arranged in his lap.

Zechs didn't quite know what to say to the kid. He'd been half-drunk and giddy last time they'd really talked, when Zechs offered to be fucking Oprah for the boy's evident relationship issues. Bah. Like Zechs made the picture perfect example of a successful - _Nope, Milli, stop talking crazy, not even to your own fucking self. Murder that line of thought right now._ Fortunately the laundry committee chose that moment to return, saving Zechs from potential awkwardness. Heero set the plastic hamper on the floor near the couch while Duo disappeared into their bedroom carrying an armful of bedding.

"Anything I can do to help?" Quatre asked.

"No," said Heero.

Duo returned from the bedroom, hands empty. His gaze drifted lazily from Zechs to Quatre to Heero. "Let's play a game," he said.

Quatre brightened. "Like what?"

"The laundry needs to be folded." Heero spoke with iron-clad determination, as he did when it came to all matters of routine.

"The laundry folding game," said Duo. He smiled, a bit crooked, and plopped to the floor beside the hamper.

Zechs grabbed the deck of cards off the kitchen counter. "I'll play you War," he told Quatre. "I don't want to fold laundry."

"You're missing out." Duo took a black shirt out of the basket, one that could just as easily be his or Heero's, and laid it out on the floor. Heero watched him carefully, but Duo made a neat enough job of it that, for once, he didn't complain.

Zechs shuffled the cards together and then dealt them out, half to Quatre and the other set to himself. They played for a bit. Zechs didn't really pay much attention; it was a brainless enough game, and he'd only suggested it to get out of helping with chores. He saw one of his own shirts, the black and tartan one he'd worn out to the bar with Treize, formed into a squarish bundle under Duo's hands. So maybe he should be helping but, fuck it. He didn't want to. Serves them right for messing with his stuff anyway. Which was unfair, since he was hogging up the spare bedroom all to his lonesome. Whatever.

He'd intended to head uptown for the Saturday reconciliation, but that was before Meiran's bullying tactics drained half the potential bus fare out of him. He could have walked, sure, but it was a long way, and he was feeling exceptionally lazy. So he'd go tomorrow, early as always. Blistering early, Zechs realized; he'd have to walk, and Heero Yuy lived way out on the western edge of nowhere. He'd have to start walking at sun up just to have any hope of making it for the early service. Of course, he could skip. The idea set off a small, uneasy twinge.

"Hey, Heero."

Heero knotted two socks together. "Hn?"

"Know where there's a church around here?"

"No."

Duo looked at him, the dark shape of Heero's mechanic uniform forgotten in his hands. Zechs stared right back. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," said Duo. In that same stupid dreamy tone, like he was still half asleep.

Heero had stopped working on the laundry. He was watching Zechs instead.

"Laser beams," Duo said. He smirked and stabbed a finger into Heero's cheek.

It made Heero shift his gaze, turning the intensity to Duo instead. "I was thinking."

"Want me to get your notebook?"

"No." Heero's face flushed under his tan.

"Don't worry about it," Zechs said. "Forget I asked."

"Are you going tomorrow?" Quatre reached to draw a new card. "Ooh, a King."

Zechs flipped over the two of spades. He was losing. Maybe he should have fixed the shuffle. "I guess."

"Can I come with you?"

Zechs made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "What?"

Quatre folded on the idea at once. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Let's all go," said Duo.

"Absolutely not." Zechs tossed the rest of his cards away. "Here. You win. I'm done."

Pale brows twitched together in distress as Quatre gathered up the cards. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Jesus. It was like kicking a puppy. "Forget about it," Zechs said. "All of you, just forget I said anything."

Duo seemed to have no problem with that. He picked up a shirt, asked Heero something about it in tones too soft to be heard, and folded it up just as neat as the rest. Quatre packed the cards back into the flimsy little cardboard box without looking at Zechs. Whatever, right? He got to his feet and gave them a half sort of wave. "Night."

Not that he was going to bed, but he was done hanging out at least. Zechs stretched out on the spare bed and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about digging out the fifth of vodka shoved between the mattress and the box spring, but considering how early he needed to be awake it seemed unsporting to his stomach. He considered taking a Russian roulette wheel of antipsychotic candy from the pilfered orange bottles, but he wasn't quite at the stage to give up yet.

Instead he tried to think about the whisper of Wufei's breath against his cheek, the weight of him held close like that, the soft, drowsy lull of his voice. Zechs rolled to face the wall. Sure, he never thought it was going to be easy, but he never thought it was going to be this hard either. What could he possibly do about Meiran? What if he never got to talk to Wufei ever again? Something spasmed in his chest.

Later, when he felt certain everyone else was asleep, Zechs snuck out of bed. He found Quatre curled into a small ball on the sofa, and Zechs very carefully dug the boy's jeans up off the floor. He only took a ten spot, enough for bus fare and maybe breakfast after. Number seven usually didn't feel so much like stealing. That is, it was taking, but, _shit_. Zechs stood there for a long while, thinking maybe Quatre would wake up and catch him in the act. The boy just slept on, curled tight around his teddy bear, the planes of his face pale and fragile in the dark. So Zechs went back to bed and fell asleep feeling guilty, a Saturday night Peacecraft tradition.

* * *

He skipped confession. Like, entirely. After last week's tete-a-tete with Father Way-Too-Nosy, Zechs felt disinclined to get another unwanted lecture. Which was stupid, as that was the whole point of the ritual. He went over the list in his head during Mass instead, muttering the responses on cue without having to think about it. Even hitting all the high notes, or maybe that was the low ones, the worst of his despicable life (except one, always omitted and counted elsewhere as a lie for the trouble) – this week hadn't been one of his better, but maybe there were fewer than he remembered. Or that was wishful thinking.

Afterward Zechs took to his next destination on foot. The weather was pleasant enough, if a touch cool, and he didn't have terribly far to go. He accidentally overshot to the south and had to backtrack through the park. The early morning mommy brigade camped out along the benches facing a multicolored plastic playground. Zechs gave them a width berth rather than risk the disdainful looks for his trailing plume of cigarette smoke.

He felt a bit like a stalker, standing a ways up the street and just watching the tan house inside the loop of cul-de-sac. With any luck none of the dogwalking or stroller-pushing suburbanites would throw up a kerfuffle over his presence. He wore the blue button-down over the khakis, with both neatly pressed since Heero Yuy owned an iron. Prep chic, if he was lucky. Maybe the chain smoking gave him away, but, fuck it. He felt nervous as all hell.

At least an hour went by before he struck gold. The psycho with the basketball, whose name Zechs likely knew and willfully forgot, came outside. With him was a tall girl with a bad dye job in baggy black clothes. Perfect.

She spotted him and came over to meet him in the middle, at the end of the neighbor's driveway. "Look at you," Marcy said. Her jaw worked over the ever-present wad of gum. "I can't even think of the right insult. Something about meeting Mr. Witherspoon for squash maybe. Shit. It's too early for this. Go away."

"What?" Zechs shook his head. "Don't be stupid. Here." He tossed her an unopened pack of Djarums.

"Sweet." She stuffed it into the cavernous front pocket of her sweatshirt. "I bet you're not here just to pay me off, though."

Zechs shrugged. "Guess not." He glanced over her shoulder toward the house.

"You guess? Well, decide quick. I got shit to do."

"Sure. Whatever. Listen, I heard about your side cash gig."

Marcy smacked her gum. "Yeah? From Treize? Cool. I'm on my way to market right now, so, pick your poison." She rattled something within her hoodie pocket.

"No." Zechs managed not to scowl. "I'm looking to unload. I'll give you a good deal on it."

She tipped her head to one side. "I sense a catch in there somewhere."

Zechs shrugged again. "Sure. I guess. No more taking from Treize, or Wufei, for starters."

Marcy rolled her eyes around within their heavily-kohled outlines. "Aren't you a do-gooder all of a sudden. Sorry for riling up your alpha male mojo. Who am I to object if Treize wants to make some cash on the side?"

"Just. Whatever," Zechs muttered.

"He's got a primo script you know; Seroquel. I can get nearly fifteen a pop for the big milligrams he's supposed to be taking."

"Jesus." Zechs dug at the sidewalk with the toe of his sneaker. "Leave the kid alone, okay? Look. I've got twenty Valium, twenty Xanax, and ten Klonopin." He'd counted them out before leaving that morning, redistributing among the three bottles. He was only offering half his stash to Marcy; might as well keep the rest for a rainy day.

She let out a low whistle. "Shit, you knock over a pharmacy?"

Zechs considered Doc's locked cabinet. The healed over wounds on the back of his hand throbbed in sudden sympathy. "Something like that."

"Well," she said. "All right. I'll front you seventy-five for the lot."

"I was thinking more like two hundred."

"That's optimistic."

"Yeah, well. Seventy-five's an insult."

Marcy produced a pink bubble that swelled into sudden collapse. She chewed through the remains. "You know what you're doing. Why not just sell 'em yourself?"

Zechs shrugged.

"Whatever. One now, fifty when I sell them."

"One-fifty now and it's a deal." He was letting them go cheap, but Zechs was tired of being broke. Getting caught lifting smokes or bottles held less appeal than getting shafted on a haggle. With Trant it was always – _Nope. Fuck Trant_. Zechs grinned at her, a bit too sharp.

Marcy flipped a greasy lank of hair behind her ear. "Fine. You got them on you? Give 'em over. I'll send Treize out with the cash."

Zechs hesitated.

"Should be him still," she said. "I'll go inside and check. You didn't just come to join my get rich quick scheme, did you?"

"No. Sure. Okay." Zechs pulled a wadded ball of plastic wrap and pills from his pocket.

She added it to the rest of her stash. "Cool. Be right back, then."

Zechs waited. He lit up another cigarette to bid the time. The acrid bit of smoke seared his nose when he huffed out a poorly timed laugh at how pathetic he felt. _Right back where you started, Milli. Smoking and drinking and dealing and thieving – you're just no good. _Zechs tossed the cigarette away when Treize came out of the house. Probably Treize at least, with glasses off and hair down like that. Definitely Treize, if that sudden smile was to be trusted.

Zechs spotted a slight, hitched limp in the way that Treize walked down to the end of the drive, and spared the boy the rest of the walk by closing the distance between them with a few quick strides. "Hey," he said. For lack of anything better.

Treize beamed up at him. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Sure."

"Oh, you're the Prince of Ice today. Well, your highness, I have an intriguing delivery for you." Treize slipped forward and wrapped himself around Zechs, inescapably close. Zechs looked to the house in a panic, but the only other person outside was the boy with the basketball, who was dribbling away with mindless determination.

"How's your ankle?"

"A bit sore," Treize said. "We must have had a grand time the other night. I hardly remember hurting it."

"Yeah. I guess. Sorry about that."

Treize waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Well worth it, I should say. Now, my darling, what wicked plans have you for today? Mimosas and brunch? Canoodling in the park?"

"No," said Zechs. He twisted out of the boy's winding grasp. "That's not… Never mind. Look, can I ask you for a favor?'

A huff of displeasure escaped from Treize's perfectly kissable lips. "I suppose that depends on the nature of the favor, your highness."

Zechs ignored the sarcasm. "I wanted to see Wufei's notebook."

Treize peered up at him with a decidedly wary disposition. "Whatever for? Any gossip you'd like I would be more than happy to provide."

"I was curious if he wrote anything about Friday night. Er. About me."

Treize folded his arms over his chest. "Why? What would _he_ have to say about _you_?"

Jesus, warning bells, all the wrong kinds, clamoring up a storm in his head. Zechs ran a hand over his face and tried not to snarl with the sheer frustration of the entire stupid situation – _Okay, Milli. Deep breath. Two against one in your favor right now, don't fuck it up_. "Nothing," Zech said slowly, cautiously. "Never mind."

Dark eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. "I thought you'd call me yesterday."

"Ah," inarticulated Zechs. Without even thinking about it, he reached for and claimed a cigarette out of his already diminishing pack. Treize's eyes followed the motions, but the boy said nothing when Zechs cupped his lighter over the end and sent a small cloud of smoke into the air between them. "I did call yesterday."

"I think you're lying."

"It's the truth, Treize. You just weren't there."

"That's what you said last time. Or was it that something important came up? I can't keep your excuses straight."

Zechs rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"Like. Jesus. Forget about it," Zechs muttered. "Didn't Marcy give you something to give me?"

Treize nodded. He shifted his weight some, placing a small distance between them. "I might decide to keep it though."

"Whatever." Zechs sighed smoke. "What-_fucking_-ever."

"Well, if you're going to be like that about it."

"Like what?" Zechs said. And regretted, immediately. Hadn't he already established his inability to know when to shut up? He always had to say the wrong damn thing.

To his immense surprise, however, Treize just laughed. "Oh, Ice Prince. I'll melt your cold heart one of these days." He stepped forward, light and graceful despite the slight limp, and wound around Zechs in a hug. Treize's hands slid underneath the hem of the crisp shirt and hooked provocatively into the khaki's belt loops. "You may have your money, provided you spend a goodly portion on wining and dining yours truly."

Zechs bit out a smile. "Sure."

From wherever he produced it in the first place, the bundle of cash ended up getting shoved directly into his pocket by Treize's hand. Which lingered there afterward, nestled deep into the fabric. "Here's where all your warmth went," Treize said with a laugh.

Zechs shrugged and carefully extricated himself out from Treize's not-subtle seduction.

Treize clicked his tongue at him. "Too modest, Milli. I don't like it."

"Sorry." Zechs tried to sound sincere.

"Well. Let's go, then." Treize chafed the bare skin of his upper arms. "I'll run inside and grab a jacket first, though."

"Go where?"

"Oh, I don't know. Out." Treize peered up at him and then frowned. "You are here to pick me up for some grand romantic adventure, yes?"

"What? No." Zechs shook his head. "I was in the area and just thought I'd stop by. To. You know. Say hello."

"What could you possibly have to do today that's more entertaining than spending time with me?"

"Nothing. I mean. I don't know, Treize. I'm just going to get you in trouble."

"So?"

Zechs said nothing. The cherry on his cigarette flared and faded as he thought through several flimsy excuses. Finally at last he just said, "Today's no good."

"Hm," grumped Treize. "A rain check, then. If you must. Well. Am I spend another evening wasting away by the telephone?"

"I don't know. Sure. I'll try calling. It's probably not going to work."

"Whatever could you mean by that?"

"Nothing. I don't know." Zechs dropped the filter to the ground and tapped it out with an idle motion. He instantly started up another one, the flame unsteady in his hands. They kept wanting to shake with bad nerves, and he kept trying to hold them still. "You been hearing the phone ring lately? Like, yesterday for example. When you were talking with Marcy."

Treize stared at him. "I haven't the faintest idea what you could possibly be talking about. Are you going to call or not? If you tell me what time you expect to deign me with your holy voice, I'll be sure to make myself available."

"Yeah. Right." Zechs felt a rush of anger, swift and terrible. "Like that'll work."

He meant the words for Meiran, the target of his frustration, but by the sudden swoop of Treize's brows … it came across differently. Too late to backpedal, Zechs accepted a wash of helplessness when Treize just said, "Oh?" in a very dangerous sort of way.

"Stop it. Jesus Christ." Zechs swore under his breath. So much for not fucking it up. "Sure. We'll try it that way. I'll call right at six o'clock, how's that sound?"

Treize tipped an inscrutable look up at him. "Fine. But why must I always be the one waiting for you to call in the first place? It strikes me as exceedingly unfair and entirely suspicious. Haven't you a phone?"

"Nope."

"Liar. How do you manage to call me if not? Magic?"

Zechs shrugged. "Payphone."

"That's expensive."

_Tell me about it_! Zechs wisely did not say this, however.

Treize continued, "Doesn't your friend have a phone?"

"Who?"

Instant mistrust flared across Treize's face. "The person you're staying with."

"Oh. Uh."

"You're getting ready to lie again."

"Come on, Treize. Let it go. I do call you. Stop getting mad at me over everything. It's like walking through a fucking minefield. Jesus. I do call you. Everyday! Hell, sometimes twice. And, yeah, it is expensive. What do you want me to do about it? Meiran's the one who keeps answering, okay? She hates me, for whatever reason, even though I just keep trying to be _nice_. God! What is wrong with _me_? Why do I even bother? I can't win this one. No matter how many fucking times I try to call it's always her. It's been that way all week, and what the hell do you want me to do about it? I'm trying. Goddammit, I'm trying."

Treize waved away the offending cloud of smoke that accompanied Zechs's outburst. "Put that away. It's like trying to talk to a chimney."

"Fuck off," Zechs growled. "I'll do what I want."

"Well you certainly will," Treize said coolly. "Woe be to me to say otherwise, your highness."

Zechs dropped the cigarette to the ground, even though he still had half left. He looked at it just lying there, the small curl of smoke rising up from the cherry as it burned. He spoke without lifting his gaze, not wanting to see the cold anger on Treize's face anymore. "Sorry. I know it's not your fault. Okay? I'm sorry, Tr—" Zechs glanced up just in time to see the switch.

Wufei adjusted his glasses over his face, wrinkling his nose slightly as he pressed the corner of the wire frames into position. "Oh," he said. He blinked up at Zechs. "Peacecraft."

Zechs had to swallow twice before he could speak. "Hey."

Wufei quickly glanced around at the surrounding homes, including the halfway house. Checking where he was, no doubt. Zechs tried not to stare. "How's your ankle?"

"What?" Wufei's attention snapped back to him. "Oh. Yes, fine. Thank you. It's better. I'm getting around fine on it."

"That's good," said Zechs.

Silence stretched between them. Glossy strands of hair fell forward from the hasty bundle Wufei had made. As Zechs watched, the boy carefully pulled free the hair tie, combed the inky tresses back with his fingers, and secured the bundle back into place. All Zechs could think of was how much he wanted to brush it all free again, and how it had felt running through his hands on that long bus ride home Friday.

Zechs cleared his throat. "I was just leaving."

"Were you?" said Wufei. He might have looked relieved. The awkwardness taking shape between them couldn't just be in Zechs's mind only.

"Yeah. Unless you, uh."

"No," Wufei said quickly. "I need to be studying. I, ah, wasn't feeling well yesterday. I didn't get any homework done."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that."

"No, no. It's fine. I didn't say that to make you apologize." Wufei seemed to notice how close they were standing – even when huffing his way through a sulk, Treize invaded a significant portion of personal space. He retreated some. "Thanks, ah, for getting me back safe and everything. I don't, that is, I'm not quite—" Wufei stammered to an uncomfortable halt.

"Don't worry about it," Zechs said.

"I, um. Well. Yes. Okay. I just." Wufei fiddled with his glasses again, obsessing over the exact right angle of them for an unnecessary length of time. "I don't exactly remember all of, um, the other night. So if I did anything, ah, strange. Or. Well. Whatever may have happened. I apologize."

Zechs shrugged. "Sure. It's fine. Nothing happened. Don't worry about it." He wondered if Wufei referred when he was Treize, and therefore experienced a black out because of his condition, or if the alcohol obliterated any of the night's memory. Zechs wasn't stupid enough to ask, despite his burning curiosity.

"Good. I'm glad." Wufei smiled. "That is something of a relief."

"Sure." Zechs shrugged his hands into his front pockets.

Wufei's gaze ran over the line of him. "You look different again. Or the same, I suppose, as when we first met."

"Yeah? Cool."

Color infused Wufei's face underneath the well-faded bruises, which only really showed in moments such as this. "I didn't mean anything by that. I was just remarking."

"Oh, yeah. I know." Zechs cursed his inability to filter his tone better. "So, I'm heading out now."

"Right. Of course." Wufei nodded. "Thanks for stopping by. I'll, ah, see you later?"

"Sure. Hey. I'll call you later. At six, prompt. But, I guess, if you're not … around," Zechs tried not to make his verbal stumble quite that noticeable. He tried to look somewhere other than Wufei's face, tipped up at him so expectantly, because his gaze kept settling unnervingly on the boy's lips. "Well, don't worry about it. Maybe I'll, I don't know, meet you tomorrow after school or something."

Wufei agreed at once. "I would like that. I can meet you out front, near where the buses wait."

"Yeah? Okay. Cool," said Zechs.

Wufei smiled at him, and Zechs found himself smiling back. He had no idea what type of smile, whether his real one, or the charming one, or the one he gave Treize. It was just a smile.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Yay, I was able to get this done quicker than the last few chapters! I'll try not to make you wait so long like I was. Sorry about that!

Summertime is approaching. A lot of my free time is going to get eaten up by my family. I'll try not to sound so reticent about that fact … but it's kind of true; I would just sit and write all day long if I could. Ah, that would be the life!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	81. Struggle

LSC / 05-13-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-One: Struggle)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 81

**Struggle**

* * *

"Hello?"

"Uh. Hi, Meiran. It's me." Zechs knew he should have just hung up, but some stupid instinct compelled him to commit heinous acts of dubious courage. And by instinct he meant two bolts of vodka, bravery in a bottle, settling out into heavy warmth as he stood out in the cool early evening.

"You," she said flatly. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

"Me? Yeah, right. You're trying to get to Wufei."

"Or Treize, or you. It's all the same to me."

"That's because you're an idiot."

"Yeah. I know. Look. I know what you're doing, Meiran. It's clever, I'll grant you that."

"What?"

He had her on the defensive at last. "Monopolizing the phone. I told both Wufei and Treize what time I planned to call tonight and, surprise, you answered instead. It's clear enough what you're doing, so, I admit defeat. You win."

"So you'll leave Wu- Wait. What do you mean you told them? I would have heard the phone ring."

Aha! Zechs bounced on that small tidbit of information. "I didn't call. I came by the house earlier."

"You what? Who told you where we live?"

"I'm surprised it isn't in that journal of yours."

"What isn't in the journal?"

"A lot, apparently." Zechs couldn't help but grin.

"That's impossible. You have to be lying. I'd have known if you came here."

"I've been to your house three times, Meiran. Remember that night I took you to the movies? I walked you home after."

"No you didn't. I'd know if you did."

"Well that's what happened. Look. It doesn't matter, I guess. The important thing is that it's two against one in my favor now. Don't you think it's time we called a truce."

"No," she said. With absolute conviction. He could imagine her glare, scum under the shoe style, and shuddered.

"Why not?" Zechs said. "Wufei -"

"Wufei doesn't know any better. I do. You think I'm just going to sit by and let it be like that idiot Maxwell all over again? No way I'll let that happen. You're trouble. I know you're trouble. You're the worst kind of trouble. What do you think will happen is Wufei or Treize gets caught hanging around you again? You already got him into trouble at the hearing. You've got a record, you're no good. Noin knows who you are, you know. All I have to do is tell her I saw you sulking around the house and then you'll be sorry. I'm not going to let you near Wufei. I won't let you hurt him."

"Hey. I'm not going to hurt Wufei."

"Don't lie to me! Of course you will. I know what you're like. I know your type. You've got a bad attitude and a worse temper. You already hit Wufei once, remember?"

"That was-"

"Don't make excuses! It's just a matter of time before you hurt him. Don't test me. You don't want to test me. I will never let you have him. Wufei is mine. That's the way it's always going to be, so don't even try. I protect him from people like you. That's what I do. That's why I'm here."

Zechs swallowed a mouth gone suddenly dry. The shots of vodka in his gut, which started out as courageous warmth, now churned uneasily. "Meiran, wait. Slow down. What are you trying to say? What do you mean by all that?"

"I mean precisely what it sounds like. Don't think you can continue to sneak around my back, either. You might have gotten lucky a few times, but your luck won't hold. I'll find out eventually. Wufei can't keep secrets from me. I'm the one who keeps his secrets."

"What do you know?" Zechs scowled at the brickwork. "Where do you get off talking like this? Come on, Meiran. Do you really think Wufei wants you getting in the middle like this?"

"I don't care. It's for the best. He'll realize that eventually."

"I'm not like Maxwell, you know. I'm not like that at all. I'm nothing like him. That earlier mess, at the hospital, that -"

"Don't try to defend yourself to me. Don't even try. I don't care."

"Meiran, come on. Don't be like this."

"Like what?"

The way she shot it out, arching with sarcasm, chilled Zechs to the core. "Just. Look. I'm going to have to tell Wufei what you're up to, you know. He's going to get curious why I never call him. He's already noticed it. He's going to wonder what's going on, so, I'm going to have to tell him you're at fault."

She laughed. "And what do you think that will accomplish? You and I both know that Wufei will never choose you or anyone else over me. He can't. You know that. Don't be stupid."

The ground suddenly seemed much further away than just beneath his feet. Zechs set a hand against the wall to steady himself. "What do you mean?"

Her sigh puffed through the receiver with a burst of static. "Don't sound like that. Don't act so surprised. Didn't I already tell you? Haven't you figured it out by now? Even an idiot like you has to have noticed. I'm different than them."

"Than who?"

"You know."

"No, I don't." He could barely hear her over the rushing sound in his own ears.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you that stupid? I'm not real. You know that, I know that, everyone knows that but him."

Zechs managed a sound that wasn't quite anything.

"I'm hanging up now," she announced. "Don't do anything truly stupid, like try to tell Wufei what I said. He won't ever believe you, and you'll just upset him." Her voice abruptly softened. "Just move on with your life. Forget about this."

"I can't do that." The words escaped before he really thought about it.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

The phone clicked into silence. Zechs stared at his own white-knuckled grip on the receiver for a very long time. Eventually a twitchy sort of kid in an oversized parka came up to use the payphone. He hated the smashed-up look of the kid's face. He nearly picked a senseless fight over it, hoping to end up on the losing side for a change, because he desperately needed anything else to think about than everything he had to think about. Zechs walked away instead. He started walking, and kept walking, long after the lingering twilight dropped into full night.

He tried to forget. He wanted to, maybe. Zechs thought that might suit him fine. He could just keep walking, out of Heero Yuy's neighborhood, out of the city, even. Out of the state. Just walk right out and forget about everything. Forget how Wufei looked in the window, smiling at him with that burnished red streak in his hair, how he looked on the bus, tipped up with drink and staring at him.

Eventually Zechs gave up the idea as stupid. He'd committed enough time and effort already. A ruthless sort of determination took over his thoughts, chasing out the despair. If he gave up now, he might as well give on everything. _Everything_, and to hell with the consequences – literally.

* * *

He met Wufei after school as planned, despite Meiran's threats. Zechs hung back long enough to make sure it was him, glasses on, hair back, a puzzled sort of frown fixedly in place as the boy stood beside the low brick wall that ran the front length of the school. Wufei didn't ask about missing the arranged phone call, and Zechs didn't offer an apology or explanation.

Despite his curiosity, born during a fretted night spent half-awake and tumbling through a mess of thought, Zechs kept his mouth shut. He ran through every interaction he'd ever had with Meiran, thought about everything she'd threatened and let slip, and still Zechs came no closer to understanding. He considered asking Duo, out of a grudging acknowledgement of their lengthy friendship, but ultimately decided that Duo knew nothing and less than he did.

Wufei kept oddly quiet as Zechs walked him home. Fair enough, considering Zechs found himself not saying anything either. Just before they parted, Wufei offered a few anemic strands of conversation. The air held a cold bite, and his breath came out in wispy white puffs. Under the guise of homework, which seemed a reliable enough excuse, Wufei went into the halfway house and Zechs went back to Heero Yuy's stupid apartment.

He hedged a safe bet and didn't bother to call. Taking Meiran's threats into account, Zechs felt that safe. She'd more than adequately proven her point on the matter, and he genuinely worried about her switching in whenever the phone rang. He had no way of asking Wufei, not without starting up more trouble than it was worth, so Zechs held his cards close.

His luck held through until Thursday. The preceding two days followed the simple routine of walking Wufei home from school, their meager conversation light and banal, and parting under the agreement they'd meet to do the whole routine over again. Thursday, however, Zechs found Treize waiting for him instead. Or rather, as opposed to waiting, Treize simply exited the school building and started walking. Zechs had to cross the street in front of a soccer mom's SUV and slip between two parked school buses to catch up with Treize before he got too far ahead.

"Milli! What an extraordinarily overdue surprise." Treize's smile seemed too sharp, but he swooped close anyway.

Zechs checked his advance with an excruciatingly casual maneuver, ducking out from the boy's range without seeming like a retreat. "Hey there," he said. He starting walking under the hope Treize would join pace. Students streamed around them uncaring, but that would change pretty fast if Treize tried his usual tricks.

Unfortunately, Treize held his ground. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Well if it isn't my absent Ice Prince. Where have you been? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Zechs replied.

By the sudden downward tip of the boy's mouth, Zechs offered the explanation both too quickly and without enough sincerity. "Did you?" Treize said.

"Sure." Which was not the right answer, and Zechs knew it. He threw out a hopeful distraction instead. "I wanted to take you out."

"Take me where?"

"The movies."

Treize made a great show of considering it. Zechs cautiously reduced some of the hard won distance between them. He nudged an fist into Treize's shoulder and pushed lightly. "My treat. Come on."

It tipped the scale into his favor. Treize broke into a sly smile. "Oh, all right. I have to run home first and check in at least."

Zechs felt the slightest bit guilty. Sure he'd avoided the fight with Treize, but taking the evening out to watch a stupid action movie probably didn't help Wufei's study regimen any. So it was probably for the best that Wufei ended up switching in somewhere around the film's second act.

A bit awkward that Zechs had been sitting with his arm slung over Treize's shoulders, of course. In his defense, it had been more of a means to keep Treize off him without starting back up their fight. Wufei didn't say a word about it. Zechs missed the switch entirely, focused as he was on the screen. He only noticed when Wufei leaned forward out of Treize's slouch, his shoulders square and straight against the stiff line of his back.

Zechs hastily withdrew his arm and wisely matched Wufei's silence. He didn't call him out on missing the entire first half of the movie, either. In fact, Zechs kept himself thoroughly distracted wondering over it. He closed his eyes for a minute or so, and then opened them and tried to think like Wufei coming out of a switch. Beside him, the boy in question stared up at the screen as if the disjointed plot made perfect sense. Zechs decided he'd never been happier to see movie credits in his entire life.

They rode the bus in silence. Wufei looked out the window and checked his watch every so often, despite there being plenty of time left before the curfew. Zechs considered reassuring him about it, maybe offering some kind of explanation for the movie, but whatever words he conjured fell to dust in his mouth.

Wufei spoke only when they were almost back to his house. "Thanks. That was fun."

Zechs shrugged. "Sure."

Wufei didn't quite look at him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I guess. Not like I have anything else to do."

Wufei's face buckled into a frown. "Oh."

_Idiot_. Zechs ran a hand through his hair, tugging aside the long pale strands. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, of course not." Wufei flushed. "Goodnight, then."

He reached to catch Wufei by the arm, and the boy rocked to an immediate halt. Their eyes met for a moment before Zechs's gaze dropped, picking out a soft curve of lip. Zechs snapped his hand away a heartbeat too slow. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rather than tempt further trouble.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "Night." Zechs turned away before Wufei could respond, moving away on long strides. He felt Wufei's gaze on him; the burning weight of dark eyes bore into his skin, right between the shoulders. Zechs looked back only to see the street was empty.

* * *

Treize again on Friday, and Zechs took that in stride. He ran into Quatre on the way out that afternoon, and the kid startled something guilty at the sight of him. Zechs didn't hassle him over it; frankly he had more important concerns. Like the fact that Treize, for all his warm smiles and sly looks, proved volatile and fickle with his ready and open affection.

"What do you mean, you can't call me anymore?" Treize set his hands against his hips, the perfect picture of a pouty sulk.

Zechs glanced at the surrounding flow of high school kids. "I mean what I said. Come on, Treize. Isn't me showing up like this better than a phone call? Don't you want to see me?"

Treize tipped a dark look up at him. "I suppose," he said cautiously. "Wufei's being awfully cagey lately. Should I be jealous?"

"Jesus," Zechs muttered. "No," he said, loudly. "Let's start walking."

Treize hitched his school bag higher up on his back and fell into step beside him. "Are you here to take me to another movie? Or dinner, perhaps? Oh! I know. It's Friday night, why don't you show me a _really_ good time? I'll challenge you to another game of pool after."

"No." Zechs took Treize's elbow to guide him through a sudden snarl of cars. Treize took the opportunity to mold himself into Zechs's side, hands gliding underneath the heavy leather jacket and across the thin fabric of underlying t-shirt. Zechs shied sideways to avoid him without making it an outright rejection, but Treize clung firm and followed the motion.

"Why not? You've been the Prince of Ice much too often. I don't like it. Are you upset with me? Have I done something wrong?"

Genuine concern bled through the overriding haughty tone, and Zechs regretted at once he stand-offish behavior. When they reached the edge of the park, Zechs briefly slung an arm around Treize's shoulders and pulled the boy into a quick squeeze.

"I'm not mad at you. You haven't done anything."

"Well! Stop liking acting like I have." Treize huffed, but his mouth curled into a smile. "What's the hurry, Milli? Don't walk so quick. I can't keep up."

Zechs slowed his pace. "Don't you need to be checking in at the house?"

"Oh, when did you become such a stickler for the rules? For all they know I stayed late to ask a teacher a question. Here, Milli. Let's walk this way."

Treize grabbed his hand and pulled Zechs off the grass, bypassing the park shortcut. Zechs went along because it seemed a great deal simpler than opposing Treize. For all the boy's easy affection, he proved volatile when shown the slightest opposition. Given his way, such as with the path and pace of their walk, put Treize in an agreeable mood. Zechs almost preferred Meiran's bluntness ... which set his stomach to knots, considering her threats and ability to carry them through.

"Listen to that sigh!" Treize remarked. "I never knew you cared so much for the park."

"What? No." Zechs shrugged. "I was just thinking."

"Evidently of something quite distressing. Ease out of that frown or it might stick, and then where will you be? Haven't I mentioned before what a pretty face you have? It'd be a shame to ruin it."

"Sure, Treize." Zechs forced a smile. They rounded the low row of hedges that cordoned off the far edge of the park from the road. Coming in the opposite direction was a man walking two small, curly-haired dogs that yipped at the sight of them. Treize squeezed around on the left, brushing up against the hedge, and Zechs walked the narrow line of the curb to avoid the dogs.

He rejoined Treize once safely past the obstruction, and the boy took an immediate hold on his hand. "Oh, this way!" he said suddenly. He tugged insistently at Zechs's hand, pulling him straight into a gap in the hedges.

"Ow. What gives, Treize?"

Treize set a hand on Zechs's chest and pushed him straight back, further into the depths of the hedges. The spindly branches broke harmlessly against the dark leather of his jacket. One stabbed up against the back of his knee, and Zechs had to step quickly to avoid tripping over a lower lying branch. Green surrounded them by the time Treize was done bullying him into position.

"What the hell," Zechs muttered. A sharp bit of twig stabbed into his hip, and he twisted sideways to work free.

Treize just laughed. "You've got leaves in your hair now."

"Yeah. Wonder why."

With a rolling motion through his shoulders, Treize dropped the backpack to the ground. "Oh, stop complaining," he said with a smile.

Treize lifted up on his toes and looped his arms around Zechs's neck, melding their bodies together. Zechs thought for a brief moment to flinch away. It felt unfair. He felt stupid for thinking that. He felt Treize's delicate fingers burying themselves into his hair, tangling through the long gold strands. Zechs felt the boy's soft lips against his, and suddenly his objections seemed insignificant, trivial background noise against the electric thrum of his own rushing pulse.

Surely Zechs deserved this, for all his effort. He pulled Treize closer still, forcing them deeper into the prickly coverage. Dots of blue sky peeped through their hiding place, but Zechs closed his eyes against them. As Treize kissed him, and kissed him thoroughly, Zechs traitorously remembered the same soft weight pressed against him in a wholly different manner. He was unable to stop the flow of memory, of a burnished red streak in black hair, of a reflection in a dark bus window, and the whispered sounds of drowsy conversation.

It wasn't fair. Zechs knew it wasn't fair. He thought he might very well lose his mind with how horrendously unjust the entire stupid situation was. But damn if that didn't stop him from taking perverse enjoyment from the feel of Treize clutching at him, stroking his hair, exploring his mouth with lip and tongue alike.

"Milli," he murmured. "Milli."

Zechs should tell him to stop saying that name, stop saying it like _that_, but that would require pulling away, and Zechs wanted nothing less. He leaned too much weight against an uncomfortable line of branch and felt it snap. He fell against the flimsy support of the hedge, pulling Treize along with him. The boy laughed, the sound a whisper across Zechs's face, and redoubled his affections with the change in position. The fingers in his hair clenched and relaxed, like a kittenish kneading.

And then Zechs had a wildcat in his arms, biting, scratching, kicking wildcat. No warning. The bite against lip he took at first to be playful, until the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth, and then the rest of the attack followed with such a whirlwind of fury that Zechs was taken completely off guard.

"Meiran! Meiran, stop it!" Because it had to be her, switched in at the absolute worst moment possible. Zechs fought off her assault and that of the damn scratchy hedge in tandem. Branches snapped against his jacket, snarled through his hair, and her fist caught his ear in a ringing blow.

Meiran turned away with a final outburst. She grabbed up the backpack before stumbling her way free of the greenery.

"Hey!" Zechs went after her. She worked free of the bushes before he did, and Zechs grabbed to keep her in place. His hand closed over her wrist.

She turned on him with renewed fury. "Let go!" She swung with her free hand, and Zechs caught it as well.

"Meiran, shit. Calm down." Zechs needed to follow his own advice. Damn, did he need to follow his own advice. Only the fact he had both hands clamped over her wrists kept him from shaking.

Meiran burst into a renewed struggle, wild to the point that Zechs desperately feared hurting her. He snapped his hands away rather than let that happen. She smacked his arms, once on each side. "You! I can't believe you!"

Which didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it was the most articulate thing she'd said thus far. Zechs blocked against a third strike. "Hey! Come on, don't be like that. Calm down. Let's talk this over."

"Talk? Talk! _No_!" It lifted into a shriek, loud enough that Zechs feared someone might overhear. The same thought must have occurred to Meiran, because she suddenly grinned with the ruthless pleasure of someone given the upper hand.

"Wait," said Zechs. He prodded with his tongue where she'd bitten him and tasted blood. "Jesus, Meiran. Just wait a minute. Let me explain."

"I'm going to start screaming for help." She backed away from him. "You leave me alone."

"No, you won't. You don't want Wufei to get into trouble anymore than I do."

"I want _you_ to get into trouble."

"Sure." Zechs combed a leaf out of his hair. "You keep threatening that, but I think it's just a bluff."

It was the wrong thing to say. He could have guessed that, but desperate measures in desperate times, or however that went, and Zechs arguably was shaken up enough to excuse idiotic behavior. So the sudden narrowed distaste in her eyes, sure, that made sense and could be expected. What threw Zechs off guard, however, was the cold hiss of her voice as she said, "Just you wait."

It seemed a strange threat. Meiran turned to leave without saying anything else, however.

"Hey, wait." Zechs hesitated after her. "Meiran, seriously. I need to talk to you."

"Shut up!" She loosed the backpack down into the crook of her elbow as she swung around, and the makeshift weapon caught Zechs hard enough that it knocked him back a step. Anger boiled within him, sickly hot and swift, unbidden and unwanted, an uncontrollable inferno that set him to rumbling. He advanced on her with dark purpose.

Meiran held the backpack up like a shield. "Stop it," she said. Despite the brave front of a glare, fear rippled through her eyes as she stared up at him. He probably looked dangerous. He certainly _felt_ dangerous. Meiran took a step in retreat. "Just leave me alone."

Zechs grabbed her wrist, preventing her from getting away. "I said I wanted to talk to you."

"Let me go."

"No."

Meiran let the backpack fall as she twisted her arm, trying to break his grip. "You're hurting me."

"Tough luck."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"No, you've said enough. Now it's time for you to listen."

"I don't want to listen to you, either." Her nails scratched ineffectively over the sleeve of his jacket before working underneath the thick leather to the cuffs lying underneath. She pried at his grip, trying to work her other hand free, and normally that fierce of a struggle near his tender wrists would send Zechs into retreat.

Instead he shook her, hard enough that she let out a small, furious cry. "Let go!" Meiran clawed at his arm. One snap on the leather cuff broke free.

"Stop that!" Zechs yelled. He shook her again. "Why are you doing this? Why are you so determined to hate me?"

She glared up at him without saying anything, but she quit attacking him at least.

"All that stuff you said, about being different. What the hell, Meiran? What did you mean by that?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Explain to me like I am stupid," he said.

"That won't be hard to imagine."

Zechs grit his teeth. He resisted the urge to shake her again, and to just keep shaking her until Wufei or Treize came back to him. He couldn't deal with this and stay calm. Not that he'd been calm to start with, but even that modicum of self-control threatened to break. The leather cuff hanging but a single snap, that seemed the right sort of analogy. He realized he had to be hurting her, he could practically feel the delicate bones at her wrist grinding together under the strength of his hold. Zechs forced his hand to relax and then release. She did the same.

Zechs fiddled with the leather cuff, securing it back into place. Her eyes followed the gesture, making him doubly self-conscious. "How long have you known?"

Meiran snatched the backpack up out of the grass. "Not long, I guess. Not the whole time."

"How long's that?"

She shot him a wary look. "What?"

"How long has ... What's the whole time? How long?"

"Oh." She considered it for a moment. "Four years. Look, I only told you so you'd realize how hopeless your situation is. So you'd give up."

Four years. Zechs felt a sudden, strange ache. Four years of blackouts and hospitals and... Zechs made a vain attempt in breathing deep, trying to grab hold of his temper. "Does anyone else know?"

"Of course not. And no one will believe you if you tell them, so don't bother."

"I didn't say I was going to."

"You're stupid enough," she said. Meiran swung the backpack across her shoulders. "We're done here," she announced. Her chin lifted with bold defiance that Zechs found somewhat tragic. She was fighting a losing battle, or maybe he was, and either way they were suitably matched in stubbornness. The thought sadden him.

Meiran continued, "You're right that I didn't want to get Wufei into trouble, but you're wrong if you think I'm bluffing. If he's safer back in a hospital, somewhere people like you can't get him, then I'll make sure that happens."

"Don't do that," Zechs said. "We can work this out."

She let out a sharp bark of laughter, a neat and perfectly formed, sarcastic, "Ha!"

A slow flow of heat began at Zechs's neck and moved over his face. "I'm being serious."

"You're being stupid. What point are you even trying to prove?"

"That, hell. I don't know."

She tipped a look up at him, equal parts pitying and scornful, and Zechs fought against a sudden, bewildering triple-vision of the same dark eyes. She'd had no time or inclination to form the pigtails, so the loose fall of hair framing that face served only to confuse Zechs further. He blinked, hard, trying to set everything to rights.

"I don't know," he muttered again. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Treize is too easy, too fickle. Don't think you're the first that he's set his sights on, or that you'll be the last. And Wufei doesn't—"

She stopped talking, so precisely it sounded like a television channel getting changed mid-program.

"Hey," said Zechs. He reached out with sudden concern when nothing else happened, no switch of hairstyle or adjusting of glasses, or even a rearrangement of facial features. Just a weird blankness that stretch too long, and set Zechs toward panic. As soon as his fingers brushed against the boy's shoulder, however, dark eyes fluttered into focus.

Zechs froze. Wufei stared back at him. The boy jolted somewhat, as if struck by a sudden thought, and hastily looked anywhere but up at Zechs. Wufei fumbled his glasses out from a pocket and shoved them into place. "Ah, Peacecraft," he said. "You've, ah. Your hair is a mess."

Zechs ran a hand through his hair, pulling free green clutter and a small broken twig. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Wufei kept looking down at the ground. The tips of his ears turned bright red.

"Hey." Zechs swallowed, trying not to choke over the words. "You, uh, okay?"

"Fine," said Wufei, too fast to be sincere. "You?"

"Me? Yeah."

Wufei glanced up and then away just as quick. "You're bleeding."

Zechs shot a hand up to his lip, reflexively prodding the tender spot where Meiran had bit him. "Oh. Yeah."

"Was there a fight?"

Zechs hesitated. "No."

Wufei's shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh. Okay. I thought, maybe... Well, okay."

"There wasn't a fight," Zechs said again. Maybe he could make it true, if he insisted enough times. "We were just walking to your house. It's faster to cut through the park."

"I knew that." Wufei shoved at his glasses. "I know that."

"No, of course. I didn't mean it like that." Zechs studied the crimson smear across the pad of his finger before touching again at his lip.

Wufei's eyes followed the motion, but he didn't say anything more about it. He kept entirely silent the whole rest of the way, in fact, despite Zechs making a few feeble attempts at conversation. He didn't try very hard. He trudged alongside Wufei with a head full of harsh thoughts, muddled and angry still, but without a sensible target or solution.

When they reached the house Wufei turned toward him, without actually looking at him, and said, "I should go do homework."

"Yeah. I figured." Zechs looked at the curved line of Wufei's downturned face.

"I don't have school tomorrow."

"I know."

Wufei lifted his head some. His gaze still didn't quite meet Zechs's own. "Let's meet in front of the school anyway."

"Sure," Zechs said.

"At eleven?"

"Fine."

Wufei nodded. "I have something I want to tell you."

Zechs looked up the street. One of the neighboring houses had a yard sprinkler sending irregular streams of water out across the sidewalk, staining the cement a dark charcoal color. "Yeah?" he said. "What's that?"

"Oh. I'll, ah. I'll tell you tomorrow," said Wufei.

Zechs glanced over and caught Wufei's eye, but only for a moment before the other boy hastily looked away. "Sure," said Zechs. "Tomorrow."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Oh, my gosh, this took _forever_. I'm so sorry! I'll try harder next time.

I was out-of-town celebrating my wedding anniversary… that's a good excuse, right? (eep!) The good news is I've been handwriting a some of the upcoming scenes, so provided I can find enough time to work… I already have a lot of the material ready!

I'll try not to let it be so long for the next update, okay? Thank you for reading!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	82. End of the Line

LSC / 05-19-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Two: End of the Line)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 82

**End of the Line**

* * *

Context was important. It was everything. There was a lot he could tell just from context. At the hospital, the context was always the same. It made things easy. Lunch tray in his hand, was it empty or full? Full, time to sit down and eat. Empty, turn it in and leave. Maxwell staring at him; were there cards in his hand? Was he holding dice? Take his turn and tell Maxwell to shut up just for good measure.

So Wufei knew he just needed to find the context. So what if the context increasingly made no sense? Outside the hospital things did make very little sense, he knew that well enough. There were just too many variables. But he'd figure it out eventually. He had to believe that. He had to find the context. _There is no need to panic_.

Wufei stared at the boy in the mirror, with the smoothed back black hair and the dark brush-marks of his eyebrows beneath a forehead that crinkled in the middle as he frowned. An oval face, with creamy gold skin almost flawless except for the single dusted bruise, a green-yellow blotch at the crest of one cheekbone. He blinked behind silver-framed spectacles, and the reflection mimicked the gesture. A smudge blurred out the farthest corner of his vision, created by a solitary dot of soapy foam against the lens.

He looked down at the sink. The water poured out from the facet. His hands hovered just shy of the flow. More foam covered them. That was simple enough context to understand; he needed to finish washing his hands before doing anything else.

Over his shoulder, the door to the restroom opened. Wufei glanced up into the mirror to see the newcomers. A woman leading a toddler in a bright pink dress stopped at the sight of him, with the door still propped open by her hip. She looked from Wufei to the sign on the door.

Wufei felt heat rush into his face. A stick-figure in a triangular dress covered the door placard. That context was embarrassingly clear, and Wufei turned the water off with a quick twist. Without pausing to dry his hands, Wufei rushed past the woman and little girl to escape.

The outside surroundings made absolutely zero sense to him. So much so that Wufei actually lost stride, drifting to a halt in the middle of the covered walkway. Directly ahead of him was the men's restroom, he could see the stick-figure sign. Beside him sat two water fountains of different heights, the smaller one crusted over with calcium deposits. To his right stretched a gently sloped hill. As he watched, a man in a blue windbreaker shuffled alongside a large, floppy-eared hound up the path toward the top.

_There is no need to panic. _Wufei firmly reminded himself of this fact. He would figure out the context eventually.

He checked his watch. Twelve-fifteen on October fifth, and he felt an immediate sense of relief. He'd made plans to spend time with Peacecraft for today, around this time, so doubtless the unfamiliar location was merely someplace Peacecraft had taken him.

Well, Peacecraft was certainly distinctive enough to find in a crowd, with his height and long shine of platinum hair. Buoyed by this reassurance, Wufei considered the restroom doors to either side of him. He should wait a few minutes, in case Peacecraft should appear. If Wufei drifted too far away, and Peacecraft expected him to remain, it could very well reveal the blackout. Of course the opposite also held true; if Wufei had merely stepped away to relieve himself, and Peacecraft expected him to return...

Wufei considered it safest to see what else was in the area. It must be a park of some sort, judging by the restrooms, the open landscape in front of him, and the man with the dog walking through cultivated pathways up the hill. The last thing Wufei wanted was to tip Peacecraft off that something was amiss. Occasionally Wufei caught the older boy staring at him with that strange sort of understanding, almost like an apprehension. The first time Wufei noticed had been at the movie theater, when Wufei found himself standing in the lobby. Context made that situation clear enough; he'd arranged to meet Peacecraft, and they'd gone to see a movie. Less evident was which movie they'd come to see, and so Peacecraft caught him studying the posters and pinned him with that _look_.

Wufei rounded the corner of the brickwork building. A bare sea of concrete greeted him. Beyond a low scattering of trees, cars rushed past on the highway. As Wufei watched, a blue mini-van glided down the exit ramp and rolled to a halt within the white lines of a parking space. A family of four tumbled out to stretch their legs, the two children sullen and sleepy.

Wufei swallowed the taste of gasoline, old asphalt, and fear. He made a complete circuit of the building, wandered up the hill and back down again, and double-checked both restrooms. He walked down the opposite side of the hill, into the scraggly, overgrown grass, and checked himself just shy of the tree line. As he trudged the path in reverse, Wufei's confidence slackened. Surely Peacecraft would call out to him at any moment, like that time at the bar. How else could Wufei have possibly landed in this much trouble if not due to Peacecraft?

A closer examination of the rest area revealed a small information center, populated with pamphlets and leaflets for surrounding area attractions. A large map of the state greeted him with useless, cartoon interpretations of the geography. Well, at least he hadn't wandered atrociously far, Wufei had to be grateful for that small sliver of knowledge. Affixed to the wall outside was a payphone. Wufei slumped to sit beneath it.

A cold, bitter wind sliced against the side of the building and set him to shivering. He wore only a thin shirt, no jacket or long sleeves underneath, and Wufei wrapped tight his arms to his chest. Optimism bleed out with the remainder of his body heat.

_Even though there is every reason to panic, you shouldn't. _

Lost seemed inadequate to describe his current bewildering predicament. It felt malevolent, a cruel trick of fate, or a mockery of how desperately Wufei tried to stay positive about his… situation. That was how Noin always put it, the blackouts and everything else, _your_ _situation_.

Well he could sit there and feel sorry for himself, or he could do something about it. Wufei shifted sideways and dug free his wallet. Maybe some clue lay within, like a scribbled note or set of directions he'd simply forgotten. Maybe he was still to meet Peacecraft, and for whatever reason they'd chosen this rest area, and by some force of luck Wufei had found his way here first. So what if he couldn't remember the specifics of this plan? He searched anyway for any small bit of evidence.

The wallet contain precisely what he expected, which was nothing explaining his current location or the preceding events. Wufei sighed. He slid Noin's business card out from its slot. _Call anytime 24/7_. He did not like to use her help lightly, but surely this warranted a call. This seemed the very textbook definition of emergency.

Wufei rose to his feet and dusted fragments of cement from his jeans. A quick search of his pockets turned up adequate change for the payphone. The movement caught into the faint reflection of the payphone's metallic casing, and Wufei paused. If he called the case worker, yes, his immediate problem would be solved, but Wufei felt an uneasy sense of warning deep in his gut. This would not look good on his record. At his next hearing, wouldn't this kind of thing raise unwanted questions? He'd come under scrutiny for less. Court days, extra supervision, endless paperwork as he became shuffled deeper into the system. And possibly relocation.

Wufei lifted a hand to smooth over the already neatly bundled knot of his hair. Unbidden came the memory of fingers that were not his brushing back the glossy tresses, of a very long bus ride, and the bright streak of crimson in a dark window reflection. Wufei licked his lips and waited for the heart-sick rush of his pulse to slow.

Another option existed. He could try to fix this on his own, or at least without calling Noin. Wufei thought back carefully to his last clear memory. He'd followed the proper procedure for leaving the house that morning, he felt sure of that. Wufei consulted his watch. Just around nine hours remained until curfew. His situation was not yet hopeless.

Wufei checked his wallet again. Four dollars plus the change in pocket was insufficient cab fare, so calling a car service would not be an option. The bus pass only served as useful if he could find a city bus and, judging by the isolation and ribbon of highway, _well_. His school identification card was equally useless. Wufei took out one of the dollar bills and put the wallet away again.

Outside in a small alcove were a trio of vending machines. Wufei considered them for a moment before buying a packet of gum. Coins plunked into the return with a satisfying clink, and he stuff the unopened gum into his pocket. Armed with his fistful of change, Wufei returned to the payphone.

He slowly plugged the necessary coins into the machine. It was not too late to simply call Noin instead. Wufei considered that while listening to the dial tone. He dialed three numbers instead and received a disappointing listing from directory services; but he'd assumed the first try would fail. It'd be too easy to avoid a great deal of unpleasantness. Wufei dialed up 411 again and, once connected through, waited as the phone rang. And rang.

Midway through the fifth ring, a painfully familiar voice broke over the line to drawl out a lengthy, "Hello?"

Wufei could not speak.

"Hello, hello?" said Maxwell.

Yes. That made sense, now that Wufei considered it. Hadn't Peacecraft said as much? Yet he'd called anyway, as his options were decidedly few. "Oh," he said. Wufei swallowed and found words. "Hello, Maxwell."

A long pause followed. "What? Oh, my God." Maxwell's breathless tone failed to exhibit the proper level of enthusiasm, or so Wufei's vanity assumed. He wondered at that small strangeness. Maxwell continued, "Is that really you?"

"If by that you mean to ask who is calling, yes. This is Wufei."

"Wow. Wow!" Maxwell picked up a note of sincerity of the second attempt. "This is super bizarre. Why are you calling Heero?"

"Oh," said Wufei. Despite the rather messy fight with Peacecraft over precisely this issue, Wufei still felt wildly unprepared to explain himself to Maxwell. Although it did seem infinitely preferable to having to deal with Yuy. "Oh," he said again. "I, uh. Well, I had a rather foolish notion... I am actually trying to get into contact with Peacecraft. Have you a means to reach him?"

"Zechs? Really? Uh, I guess. I mean, he's stepped out for whatever, but he'll be back eventually... Wait. Why are you looking for Zechs? Wait. Why are you calling Heero? Wait. Wait. What the fuck, Waffles?"

He clenched the receiver in a white-knuckled grip, hard enough that it hurt, all because of a stupid nickname. Wufei swallowed again. He should have bought a can of soda instead, so as to have something to drink. He hadn't been thirsty at the time, but now his mouth felt bone dry. He swallowed again. "Oh. I know. I mean, I know you're not at the hospital. Obviously, as you've answered the telephone at Yuy's apartment."

He tried and failed to keep an accusation out of the words.

"You do? You. Wait. What?"

"Oh. Yes. Peacecraft told me."

"Zechs did? When the hell did you talk to Zechs?"

"Oh." He needed to saying it quite like that, in ever softer tones of defeat. This plan made a great more sense in his head. "Maxwell, I appreciate your curiosity, but I would very much appreciate a simple answer to my question. Do you have a means to contact Peacecraft or not?"

"Not really. He's not here at the moment. I guess he'll be back eventually, though."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well. I mean. Exactly what it sounds like, Wu. He's not here, but he will be. We're all crashing at Heero's for the time being. I guess it's a long story. How have you been anyway? Where the hell are you?"

"I..." Wufei closed his eyes against a sudden wash of vertigo. "I suppose it is a rather long story on my end as well, Maxwell."

Some strangeness took hold of him, and the plastic of the phone creaked a protest as he tightened his hands around it to hold back a sudden trembling. Shivering, he was simply shivering because of the chill in the air. He was not overly concerned about the fact that Peacecraft seemed to be staying with Heero and Duo. He also was not concerned about his inability to reach Peacecraft. Perhaps he had judged the context wrong entirely, and Peacecraft still awaited him at some unknown meeting point. What had ever possessed him to start calling people, let alone Yuy or Maxwell or Peacecraft? He could figure this out on his own.

"Wufei?" said Maxwell. "You still there?"

"Oh. Yes," said Wufei. The words came out as if he'd gone a great distance from the telephone. How strange.

"So I— Hey. That was the buzzer. Be right back."

"Oh. No, Maxwell, that's fine," Wufei said to the empty air. He should just hang up. His last resort still remained. He could simply call Noin.

Before he could do much of anything however, Maxwell came back over the line with, "You're in luck! That was Zechs. He's on his way up now."

"Really?"

"Yup. But I'm confused why you want to talk to Zechs, of all people. Or what you thought Heero would know. He barely knows, well, whatever."

"Oh. Yes. I see your point, Maxwell."

"Are you agreeing with me? Hey, you okay, Wufei? You've gone funny sounding."

"Have I?" Now that he thought about it, Maxwell was the one who sounded strange. Wufei couldn't quite place it, though. He certainly seemed to be saying the right sort of things, just in the wrong way. Yes, that was it.

"But, hey. I'm glad you called!"

"Oh," said Wufei. "Well. Yes..."

Maxwell's voice grew dim, but not so much that Wufei could not still hear him clearly. "Hey, Zechs. You'll never guess who's on the phone for you."

Peacecraft spoke, maybe, but Wufei definitely could not catch the words, no matter how he strained to hear.

"Guess," Maxwell said. "I'll give you three. You'll never get it."

"Give me that phone, Duo," came Peacecraft's voice, a low and rumbling sound. Wufei felt a sudden jolt, like a static shock.

"Just—" Maxwell started to say.

And then, "Hey. It's me."

The sudden rush of relief made his knees weak. "Hello. It's Wufei."

"I figured."

Maxwell, in the background: "(Then why didn't you guess!)"

"Hang on a second, Wufei. Okay?"

"Yes. Of course."

Peacecraft's voice became all sharp edges again as he told Maxwell to go away. He was better at muffling his end of the line than Maxwell had been; Wufei heard only the context and not the precise language. Before long Peacecraft was back saying, "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," Wufei said.

"Look," said Peacecraft. The softness in his voice only struck Wufei so poignantly because of the hard way he'd spoken to Maxwell. "I bet you're angry with me. I wasn't try to keep this from you or anything, okay?"

"What?"

"It just worked out this way. I haven't been here the whole time either."

The phone beeped at him. Wufei nestled the phone into the crook of his shoulder and started to feed additional money into the machine. "Peacecraft, I might not have much more time left on the telephone. I don't understand why you think I would be upset, but I don't care about that right now. We can talk about it later if we must."

"Okay," said Peacecraft. "Sure. But if you're mad about yesterday or whatever, I can explain. Or, I mean, whatever I—"

"Peacecraft! It really does not matter. I am not mad." Wufei drew several short, fast breaths. _There is no need to panic, you fool. Calm down._

"Hey," he said swiftly. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Okay. So, uh. Where are you?"

Words summoned up out of his throat and faded into rushed breathing. He shook his head, even though Peacecraft couldn't see him. He transferred the phone back into his shaking hands just so that he could have something to tighten them around. Shivering hands, hadn't he established that he was just shaking because of the cold? Wufei still could not speak.

"Wufei? Hey. You're not at the school, and you're not at the house. I was just out looking for you. What gives? Where are you?"

"I don't know," Wufei admitted at last. "I don't know."

"Okay," said Peacecraft gently. "That's okay. We'll figure it out."

"We will?"

"Sure. Why not? Tell me what you can see."

So Wufei described to him the rest area, from the information pamphlets to the hill to the vending machines, all the way out to what he saw further along the highway.

"Jesus," said Peacecraft, in that frustrated way of his. "You really are ... Okay. Can you see any billboards or anything?"

"What? Oh. Um." Wufei edged as far from the pay phone as he dared. "Yes. There's one of a woman ... seems to be advertising a type of soft drink."

"Yeah? Really? Is she looking kinda pervy?"

"What?"

"Uh," said Peacecraft. "Like. You know. Like the photographer caught her getting her knees dirty."

"I don't understand."

"Jesus Christ," swore Peacecraft softly. "Does she look like she can suck chrome off a tail pipe, is what I'm saying."

Wufei huffed out a burst of air. "You are not making sense, Peacecraft. She looks like she enjoys the taste of soda and would like for me to purchase whatever beverage it is she's selling... Pepsi, I think. I can't tell for sure. It's rather far away, and I have needed new glasses for over a year now."

"What the hell, Wufei. Don't make me ... Okay, fine. Look, is one side of it a bit brighter looking than the other?"

"I suppose so."

"That's because me and Trant once climbed up there and spray painted - well, it doesn't matter. I can tell you about it when I see you. Or never. _Christ_. How the hell did you get all the way out there? Ah, forget I said that. I didn't mean that. It's fine. I think I know where you are, so, don't worry, okay?"

"You do?" His mind had gone blank at _when I see you _and only sluggishly responded to the rest of Peacecraft's words.

"Sure. Okay, stay put. I'll be there as soon as I can. It might take me a while, so don't get freaked out."

"I won't!" A rush of heat filled his face.

"No," Peacecraft said quickly. "No, of course. I didn't mean it like that. Of course not. Okay, bye."

"Wait, Peacecraft."

"Yeah?"

Wufei clutched at the telephone.

"What is it?" Peacecraft said.

"Nothing. Never mind. Thank you."

"Yeah. Of course. See you soon."

* * *

The phone felt heavy in his hand. Which was silly, as it weighed no more than any other phone, and certainly no more than it had yesterday. The quick rate of his heart, thud thud thudding in his chest, was perhaps more or less equal to how it had been yesterday as well. Certainly he should look forward this phone call more than the other. Quatre bit his lip against a nervous flutter. His fingers curled over the ridged edge of the quarter, not quite ready to relinquish it into the bowels of the machine.

What was it Rashid had told him yesterday? Quatre could barely remember any of that conversation, he'd been so nervous. He'd slept little night before. Heero hadn't woken him when he got up for work that morning, because Quatre had already been awake and fretting.

Quatre just had to remember that and try to reassure himself everything would be fine. He'd call Trowa and prove that everything would be all right. Surely that's the way it would go.

He punched in Catherine's telephone number with deliberate care.

Rashid had been typical Rashid, no real surprise there. How would Trowa react? Hopefully like typical Trowa... whatever that meant. Quatre pulled Sandy up closer to his face.

The phone rang and rang. Quatre's heart sank. He'd been adamant with Trowa about the date. He'd promised and everything. Unless Trowa didn't want to talk to him anymore.

And rang and rang. Catherine's voice popped up with pre-recorded sterility, "Hi! You've reached Catherine. I'm not in, so leave a message."

Quatre set the phone back into the cradle. She hadn't changed the message to include Trowa. That probably didn't mean anything, since it wasn't like anyone but him ever called Trowa. Or at least, he could only assume that. But it felt to Quatre, in that very moment, that it was like Trowa hardly existed at all. Which was silly, and he knew that, but fear crept slowly into his chest and froze the wild race of his heart.

No, no, there had to be some explanation. Sure he'd told Trowa the day, but he hadn't said what time. They could both just as easily be out, or at the diner working still. Maybe Quatre should head over there instead of calling.

Quatre pivoted neatly in place and started back for the apartment. He'd get Duo to come with him. Not Zechs, because he'd already left early for the day, gone off wherever it was he went alone, but surely he'd be able to drag Duo out for lunch. Brightening at the idea, Quatre ran the final block back to Heero's apartment building.

After several presses of the door buzzer, a voice snapped out, "What?"

Quatre stared at the speaker. He double-checked that he'd gotten the right apartment first, because it certainly did not sound like Duo. The door unlatched anyway, without Quatre needing to say anything.

When he got into the apartment, Quatre walked right into the middle of a fight. Zechs was back and almost toe-to-toe against Duo. Almost more shocking, at least to Quatre, was the spread of color thrown up against one of the apartment walls. A giant rainbow arced from the dingy line of carpet up toward the window, with the hasty streak of blue interrupted only midway up the wall. Duo's hands bore smudges of color, marking him as the obvious culprit.

"You're wrong," Zechs was saying. "It isn't like that." Shouting, almost, with his hands clenched into tight fists at his side.

Duo held ground. His eyes snapped with ire."So why is it you've been talking to him all this time, then?"

Zechs shrugged. "How come you haven't, if you're such good friends?"

"I didn't know. I didn't know where he was."

"Yeah? Neither did I. I had to figure it out. Guess that makes me a better friend."

Duo huffed, a snorting sort of sound. "Yeah, _right_."

Zechs suddenly noticed Quatre, pressed up against the front door and poised for flight. "You're back."

Quatre nodded. He had no idea what kind of fight he'd wandered into the middle of, but he very much regretted it.

Zechs came toward him. "I need you to do me a favor."

"You leave Quatre alone," said Duo immediately. He intercepted Zechs, clamping pigment-smeared hands over his bare arm.

Zechs tried to shake him free as one would an attack dog. "Let go, you idiot."

Quatre swallowed and found his voice. "What is it? What's going on?"

"I need you to get Trowa," said Zechs.

"Don't make the kid do that," protested Duo. "Quatre, don't let him bully you into that."

The hard lump of Sandy's eye bumped against his cheek. "Why?"

Zechs succeeded in knocking Duo off his arm. "I need a car. Jesus, if it's that big of a deal I'll just steal one. Nevermind."

"No, I'll do it."

Duo bounced over to him. "Cutie-Q, you don't have to do that. I know you're all weepy over him—"

"I said I'll do it." Quatre looked at Zechs. "But why do you need a car?"

Zechs hesitated, looking distastefully at Duo. "I just do."

Both of Duo's arms went around Quatre's neck, simultaneously shielding and suffocating him. "I don't like this. First you tell us why Wufei called."

Quatre struggled a bit and succeeded in batting Duo's hug into less exuberance. "Wufei called?"

"Yeah. And he wanted to talk to Zechs. Of all people! And! Okay, get this. He calls Heero looking for Zechs, and already knows we've all run off from the hospital. Just how long have you been talking to him on the side?"

A muscle jumped in Zechs's jaw. "None of your business."

"Hmph." Duo dropped his arms from around Quatre. "I don't like this."

"Yeah. You said that already." Zechs rolled his eyes.

"Why do you need a car?" Quatre tried to ask again.

"If you're thinking to go visit Wufei, I want in."

"You can't go," Zechs snapped at Duo.

Duo's grin took on a sharp edge. "Oh, so you are going to see Wufei?"

Zechs scowled but didn't answer.

"Um," said Quatre. "Trowa's not home right now... so. I was going to go to the diner..."

"Fine," said Zechs. He snatched his leather jacket off the bar stool and slung it around his shoulders. "Let's go."

"I'm going, too," said Duo.

"No, you're not. Stay here and clean that shit off the wall before Heero gets home."

Duo studied his interrupted art project. Several of his pastel crayons littered the floor, many broken or with all the paper peeled off and tossed aside. "I think he'll like it. Besides, I want to see Wufei."

"Tough luck."

"It's not your decision anyway," said Duo. "It's Quatre's."

"Oh," said Quatre, feeling his stomach drop. He didn't want to be stuck between them like this. He hated when Duo and Zechs fought; he hadn't when _anyone_ fought, especially over him. Quatre dug his nails into Sandy's belly, squeezing the stuffing to the point he feared the bear might go lumpy if he kept at it.

Both of them were staring at him. Quatre couldn't figure out what the look on Zechs's face meant, with the way the hard line of his mouth softened, but abruptly the older boy just sighed and said, "Fine. Whatever. We'll all go."

"Yeah? All right!" Duo sent a fist crashing into Quatre's shoulder with friendly enthusiasm. "Lead on."

"You'll want a jacket," Quatre told him. "It's cold out." He wore his own jacket, a simple grey zip-up hoodie he'd bought the other day after the temperature dropped and stayed low. All the clothes he had were for summer, after all, and unlike Zechs and Duo he didn't have access to any of his pre-hospital clothes. Not that it was going to matter soon, but Quatre liked being prepared.

"Don't leave without me," Duo warned. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back out wearing a clearly borrowed jacket out of Heero's closet. The frayed cuffs were blacked over with oil stains, matching the colorful smears of pigment over Duo's hands. "Okay. Let's roll."

Quatre was the last out the door. He spared the empty apartment a final look. "Should we leave Heero a note?"

"We won't be gone that long," Zechs said. "At least, not if hurry up."

Quatre followed them down the hall toward the elevator. It felt like a cowardice, springing a visit like this on Trowa, and then immediately asking for a glorified taxi run. Well Quatre was okay with that; the phone call would have just been a different cowardly type of hiding. He clutched his bear close against the sudden, nervous quell of his heart. Trowa would just have to forgive him for being afraid.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Hello! Sorry for the wait! My husband's home for the summer, so I just don't have that much free time to be writing. Fortunately I do write in my notebook every night before bed… so it's just a matter of getting some time to type! I actually typed this entire chapter in gmail during snippets of downtime at work. See how I suffer for you?

Lots of exciting stuff around the corner. I can't wait!

I'm going to try and do one chapter a week, minimum, over the summer. Please, please, please don't get discouraged by the slow pace! I'll do my best. I'm so sorry. Oh, and, as always feedback is very much appreciated. It's been a bit quiet... which scares me. I didn't run you off with my glacial update schedule of late, did I?

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	83. Absolution

LSC / 05-25-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Three: Absolution)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 83

**Absolution**

* * *

A thrill ran through Quatre at the sight of Catherine's car sitting in the back lot of the diner. Duo clapped him across the shoulder. "See, Cutie-Q! He's here."

Zechs worked through the cigarette he'd started immediately upon getting off the bus. He tapped an impatient foot into the gravel. "Go inside and get Trowa," he said.

Quatre hesitated. "Um," he said. He curled a hand into Sandy. He'd brought the bear along by mistake, or rather by simply forgetting about it until they were already on the bus.

"I'll stay here and guard Sandy for you," Duo offered. He must have noticed Quatre's reluctance.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." Quatre cautiously turned over his bear. Duo gave him a mock salute and tucked Sandy up under one arm. The angle concerned Quatre, but rather than say anything he turned to leave. He'd see Trowa soon enough; it'd be okay.

As he hurried around to the front of the restaurant, Quatre just spotted Catherine through the big glass windows. She moved from the dining area into the kitchens as he stepped inside the busy diner. He approached the bar top, where the only empty stool sat between two men in dark suits.

Catherine swooped back out carrying a round tray laden with drinks. Before Quatre could catch her eye, she moved to a corner booth and served up the glasses with a bright smile. She pulled her order pad from the apron pocket of her uniform and started jotting down the table's lunch. If she was still taking orders during the lunch rush, her shift couldn't be ending anytime terribly soon. Zechs wouldn't like that; he seemed in a hurry.

When Catherine first glanced to him, Quatre could tell it was just the idle interest of a waitress picking up a new customer. He saw the moment she registered him as something different by the splash of surprise. He bit his lip, suddenly doubly nervous, but Catherine was all smiles as she swerved her path to intercept him. She dodged a co-worker carrying a stack of dirty dishes and slipped around one of the dark suits.

"Quatre! What are you doing here? It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

"Um." Quatre split the difference between the assault of questions and smiled. "I came to see Trowa… is he here?"

"Sure. He's in the back." Catherine looked him over critically. "How are you?"

"Um. Fine." Quatre shifted nervously under the scrutiny, despite trying desperately not to precisely that. "Can I, um?"

"Oh, yes. I should get back to work anyway. Here, come along. It'll be fine." She made a beckoning gesture and retreated toward the kitchen, and Quatre followed.

The heat and noise of the kitchen swelled up around him once they passed through the swinging double-doors. Quatre lifted up on his toes, searching out at once the side area where Trowa washed dishes. He was unmistakable, bent over a soapy sink as he applied a scrubber to a stubborn pot with more force than strictly necessary. Catherine said something, Quatre didn't quite hear the words, and spun away to collect a ready order of food for one of her tables.

Quatre crossed the crowded space to reach the dishwasher. Trowa set the pot aside and began loading a collection of glassware on to a plastic tray. He glanced sideways, maybe detecting Quatre sliding up into his space, and froze. One hand still gripped the nozzle of the sprayer, and the stream of water splattered harmless against the glasses. Trowa quickly shut off the water and slid the dishes toward the boxy sanitizer. He wiped his hands over the apron he wore, over and over, even after long past the point they were dry.

Quatre tried out a smile, even though he felt so nervous he could scream. "Um," he said.

The sound, small and pathetic as it was, jolted Trowa. He looked past Quatre toward the rest of the kitchen. A swallowed bobbed over the line of his throat as his mouth worked, not forming words, but perhaps making the desired motions for them all the same. Trowa came toward him, and Quatre flinched against his will. It was just his nerves, snapping with panicked tension, but Trowa didn't seem to notice. He grabbed Quatre's hand and clutched it tight, almost to the point of pain.

"Um, Trowa…"

Trowa wasn't even looking at him. He pulled Quatre forward, toward where the cook stood over the griddle flipping a hamburger. She looked up and gave Trowa a kindly, motherly sort of smile. "What is it, sugar?"

Trowa gestured to the backdoor without letting go of Quatre's hand. The woman's eyebrows lifted, but all she said was, "I'll tell Cathy, if she asks. Don't go too far, hon."

Trowa nodded and dragged Quatre into motion again. "Wait, Trowa," he tried to protest. Trowa didn't even pause to take off his apron. He checked a hip into the backdoor and pulled Quatre right out into the back parking lot.

"Hey, Trowa!" Duo grinned.

Trowa's hand spasmed over Quatre's. He jerked the smaller boy close against his side before slamming the door shut. Green eyes went first to Duo, then to Zechs, and then lastly down at Quatre, who gave back a weak smile. "Um, Trowa…"

The auburn fringe of his bangs tossed back and forth as Trowa shook his head, slow at first and then with increased denial. He started to bolt from the parking lot, Quatre's hand still a tight prisoner within his own. Duo protested, Zechs shifted to say something as well, and Quatre quickly called to them with reassurance. "We'll right back!" he promised hastily.

With his longer legs, Trowa's hurried, brisk walk nearly set Quatre to running just to keep pace. He wasn't going to say anything, or try to pull away, but after the third block without Trowa showing any signs of slowing or stopping, Quatre finally dug in his heels. "Trowa, wait," he said softly. Trowa didn't listen, or maybe didn't even hear him, and Quatre tumbled over his own feet as he tried to stop and Trowa tried to go.

Rather than let him fall, Trowa caught Quatre. And then just clutched him tight, right there on the sidewalk. Pressed close to Trowa's chest, Quatre could hear rushed slam of Trowa's heart beneath his cheek. He threw his arms around Trowa in response. "Trowa?" he asked. "Where are you going?"

The hug tightened. Trowa didn't say anything. They weren't alone, after all.

"I'm sorry," said Quatre. He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. "I'm sorry. Trowa, I'm so sorry.

Trowa petted a hand through his hair, brushing aside Quatre's bangs and caressing down the line of his neck. His touch was gentle, as if Quatre were some infinitely fragile item. The tips of his fingers trembled as Trowa set them against the smaller boy's cheek.

Quatre tipped his face up toward Trowa. "I tried to call, but you weren't home, and I just… I wanted to see you. Trowa…"

Trowa kissed him. A storm of tenderness came through in the swell of his lips against Quatre's, the motion just as sweet and gentle as the boy's touch. He shook his head, as if to say, _don't apologize_ or maybe _it's okay_.

A hot flow of tears suddenly flooded his face, embarrassing Quatre to an acute degree. He ducked his head quickly, trying to hide, and Trowa responded with such a reassuring embrace that Quatre's gut twisted with guilt. "Sorry," he muttered. He scrubbed the back of a hand against his eyes.

Trowa settled a hand against the back of his neck, fingers curling a caress into the fine gold strands of Quatre's hair. He still didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. Quatre knew that, but he felt disappointed nevertheless and ashamed for it.

More words rose and fell in Quatre's throat. He swallowed back whatever explanations he wanted to give, however, as it didn't seem fair to do when Trowa couldn't speak. Quatre peeped a shy glance around them at the surrounding street. It wasn't like anyone was staring directly at them, but he felt eyes all the same. He shrugged off Trowa's hands without trying to make it seem like too much of a reaction.

Trowa seemed to understand. He slid his hand down Quatre's arm, lingering a long touch over his hand and wrist, before letting him go entirely. Trowa looked at him intently.

"I'm fine," Quatre said automatically. He managed a smile.

Trowa tapped two fingers against the inside of his elbow. Quatre puzzled over the gesture. Trowa made it again, with emphasis, before snatching up Quatre's hands to flap the boy's arms, as if they were wings.

"My jacket?" Quatre guessed. Trowa shook his head. He huffed out air, the sound too small to be a proper sigh, and indicated again to Quatre's arms. "Oh! Sandy?"

Trowa nodded.

"He's back at the diner. I gave him to Duo…"

A frown twitched over Trowa's face. The short sleeves of his shirt, practical for dishwashing, left the scars on either arm exposed, and Quatre couldn't help but sneak a quick, morbid glance. He turned his eyes up at Trowa and found the boy staring right back at him.

Trowa made a slow fist against his chest, right over his heart, and then reached out and softly nudged Quatre with it.

"I missed you, too," said Quatre.

Trowa nodded. He flashed the sign for Duo, the small and crude letter "d" formed with his hand. It was one of the first signs he ever showed Quatre, all the way back at the hospital, and he flushed at the memory. Trowa then wiggled his hand some, making it a question.

"Yeah…" said Quatre slowly. "Um. We actually need a favor. Do you think you can borrow the car?"

Trowa hesitated. He tapped his bare wrist.

"Um, today. Like. Right now?"

Another little hand waggle.

"Oh, um. We need to pick Wufei up somewhere. I guess he got lost, maybe? I'm not really sure… Zechs could tell you more, I bet."

Trowa shrugged. He gestured between them, into the empty space.

"Yeah, I'm going, too! Of course. I – I wanted to see you. Um, I promised, about today, remember? Oh! Oh!" Quatre flapped his hands, overwhelmed with the sudden lightning bolt of thought. "Happy Birthday! I nearly forgot. I'm sorry, I almost forgot. Happy Birthday, Trowa."

Trowa smiled. He pointed at Quatre and then made a "c" with his hand. He shrugged helplessly.

"Catherine? Oh… Um. I saw her, just now. When's her shift over?" Trowa held up a hand, palm open. "Oh… That's so late. I think we're supposed to be in a hurry."

Trowa shrugged again and rubbed his hand over Quatre's upper arm. "She seemed happy to see me, I guess," said Quatre. Trowa nodded.

They started walking, side by side, not quite touching but hands close enough that Trowa's fingers grazed against his every few steps. Quatre veered for the diner's front door, but rather than cut through that way, Trowa led him toward the short alley that ran straight to the back lot.

Duo and Zechs waited right where they'd been abandoned amid the parked cars. A tense air of impatience surrounded Zechs, made tangible by the lingering haze of smoke. Duo shifted a quick flicker of interest between Quatre and the silent Trowa. He said nothing, uncharacteristically letting tact override curiosity, and offered Sandy out with a grin.

Quatre shook his head. "I have to go back inside to talk to Catherine."

Trowa caught Zechs's attention and made a quick driving motion with his hands.

It took him a moment, in which Zechs just stared at Trowa with the cigarette frozen against his lips. At last he shrugged. "Sure," he said, painfully casual. "If you don't mind."

Trowa nodded and turned to go into the diner. Quatre started to follow, but Trowa paused with one hand on the door handle. He gently moved Quatre back a step and then pointed toward the other two.

Quatre glanced over at his friends. "I thought you needed me to ask Catherine...?" he said quietly to Trowa.

Trowa shook his head.

"But..?"

He shook his head again, insistent. Quatre looked up at him with bewilderment. Trowa reached out a hand and ruffled it through Quatre's hair. He smiled, although it did not reach his eyes, nor did Trowa seem especially happy. He just looked sad, or maybe not, Quatre couldn't quite tell, and felt flustered for it. A flurry of concern threatened to overwhelm him, and Quatre very hard not to show anything but a wobbly return smile.

After gesturing several times for them not to follow him, Trowa slipped back inside. Quatre reclaimed his bear from Duo for the wait and wrapped himself tight around Sandy's reassuring softness. Something was bothering Trowa, and Quatre didn't need three guesses to know it was his fault.

Unfortunately Duo's temporarily discarded curiosity reared up with Trowa's absence. "Everything okay?" he asked. And, when Quatre nodded, Duo followed it up with, "You'd tell me if it wasn't right? Yeah? This isn't like 'I'm gonna cry on the sofa alone' okay, just so we're clear on our definitions of okay."

A tremble took Quatre's lower lip, so keen was a sharp stab of worry, but just as swift on the tail end of the motion came the memory of the tenderness with which Trowa had kissed him. Trowa didn't seem mad, not at all - far from it, in fact, and that only made Quatre feel all the guiltier. He owed Trowa an explanation, but later, it had to be later, Quatre promised himself he would do it later, even though that might end up a lie. He might not—

Zechs sighed, loudly, drawing Quatre's attention like a whip crack. "Is he going to get the car or not?"

"Oh, um," said Quatre. He meekly shrugged.

Zechs stared at him, face unreadable but for its tension. He took a long drag and sent out a thin stream of smoke before looking away.

"What's the rush anyway?" said Duo. "And why do we even need a car?"

"Just do," said Zechs.

"Did Wufei get transferred somewhere far off?"

Zechs shrugged.

"I don't like your attitude," said Duo. "After all I've done for you, too."

The taller boy shrugged again with willful disregard.

Since he wasn't getting anything out of Zechs, Duo swung his attention back around to Quatre. "Are you sure everything's cool? Him dragging you off like that – did you kiss and make up already?"

Zechs came to his unneeded rescue. "I don't think that's any of your business."

The quiet, subdued Duo of the past week would have let that one go, but their small excursion flamed to fervor the spark of Duo's notoriously unsteady emotions. He flashed Zechs a grin which too many edges. "As if I care what you think? I can be concerned for Cutie-Q if I want."

"I don't think he's wanting you poking around," said Zechs, with flat malice.

"Of course he does. B to the double-F, Maxwell to Winner, I totally get dibs on pushy worrywart hub-bub. Same with 'Fei, and don't you forget that."

Something flared and faded in the ice blue of Zechs's eyes. "I liked you better when you were depressed."

That gave Duo a measure of pause. He recovered quick enough, and with redoubled venom said, "I liked you better passed-out drunk."

Quatre found his voice with shattering force. "_Stop_ it! Stop fighting!"

Guilty shock rippled over both their faces. Quatre forced his shaking hands to relax a death grip from around Sandy. He hate hate _hated_ when they fought.

Trowa happened back outside before Duo could apologize. He seemed ready to, mouth open and eyes fixed on Quatre. Zechs, too, looked contrite as he tamped out the last of his cigarette. Smoke seeped from the discarded butt for a wispy second before the toe of Zechs's boot worked it out. Quatre stared at it instead of any of their faces, as now he seemed the center of everyone's attention, even Trowa, who just wandered haplessly right into the middle of an awkward situation.

Trowa wrapped an arm around Quatre's shoulders, at once protective and comforting.

Duo reacted swiftly, well ahead of any stammered explanation Quatre could offer. "All cool here, Tro. D'you get the keys or are we hitching it out to Zechs's mystery land?"

Ignoring him, Trowa focused in on Quatre. He set a gentle hand under the boy's chin and tried to lift his gaze up from the gravel. Quatre shifted Sandy up under his arm and complied, glancing quickly up at Trowa. His mouth opened and then closed. _We weren't fighting_ just seemed to confirm the opposite. _I'm fine_ indulged too close at a false denial as well. He smiled instead, albeit with the edges a bit unsteady.

Fortunately Trowa let it go at that. He produced Catherine's key ring, the plastic dolphin dangling freely.

"And she knows you've got them, right? I'm not taking a kidnapping rap just for the thrill of a road trip."

Trowa rolled his eyes in response and led Quatre carefully toward the car.

"Shotgun!" Duo yelped. He barreled forward only to get smoothly intercepted by Trowa's silent insistence. Trowa unlocked the passenger side first and even opened it for Quatre, using his other arm to nudge Duo away. "Fine, fine!" said Duo. "I can take a hint." He spun away to grab the back door handle.

Quatre caught Trowa's sleeve before the boy could move around to the other side of the car. He'd already taken off the apron and put on a jacket, the long sleeves suited him more than the t-shirt underneath. "Um," said Quatre. "Is this...?"

His voice faded on _okay_ but it didn't matter. Trowa patted Quatre's hand to reassure him. He flashed a quick "c" sign before pointing to one of the other cars in the lot, a rusty Volkswagon with leopard-print fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror.

"Catherine..." Quatre glanced at the other car, thinking through the possible meanings. "Will get a ride later?"

The corner of Trowa's mouth twitch up into something of a smile as he nodded.

Duo opened up his door again. "Hey! Less touchy-feely cutesy fun time and more getting in the car! Let's go!"

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you, thank you for all the responses to the last chapter! I forgot all about exams. I hope everyone did well! I'm sorry this chapter is a tad short, but I figured better to have a quick update than wait for me to ho-hum over splitting the next section. Which, incidentally, is entirely written… I just need to type it!

Super exciting things coming up soon. Isn't it nice to have Trowa back? And Wufei next chapter! I'm looking forward to it. Okay, until next time. Thank you for reading!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	84. The Pick Up

LSC / 07-23-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Four: The Pick Up)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 84

**The Pick Up**

* * *

Wufei sat huddled against the side of the building, arms wrapped to his chest and knees drawn close. He stood quickly once he caught sight of Zechs. Even at a distance, the relief that splashed across his face was unmistakable, and Zechs felt an echoing sense of calm. The boy wore only a shirt despite the cloudy grey chill, and Zechs shucked free of his heavy leather jacket on the way to reach Wufei.

"Hey," Zech said, once close. He set the jacket across Wufei's shoulders. "You okay?"

Wufei's fingers curled into the leather, drawing the jacket closed with a shockingly timid gesture. He'd been shivering, but it lessened as he just stared up at Zechs, eyes huge and dark and luminous. A slow pink burn flared into his cheeks. "Yes, fine," he said quickly. His gaze dropped. "Thanks for coming. I'm sorry to bother you."

"No. Yeah." Zechs cleared his throat of something husky. "Of course. I don't mind."

Wufei shrugged under the jacket, the motion small and almost imperceptible. "Peacecraft, I…" Dark eyes flicked up to meet Zechs's own, and then shifted sideways. Wufei's hand convulsed over the jacket as his eyes widened.

"Hey! Wufei!" came Duo's shout. He rounded the side of the building, waving with typical unneeded exuberance.

A storm whirled across Wufei's face for a brief heartbeat before his features shuttered close, blanking out hard enough that his body made a sudden sway. Zechs reached to steady the boy, clutching a fist into the leather over one thin shoulder. He could hear Duo drawing irrevocably closer, his voice a series of unwanted sounds that fell into unregistered static. Zechs tightened his hold and waited.

The boy's face gave a twitch, flitting through a rapid jumble of expressions that passed too quick for Zechs to have any hope of recognizing. The shoulder within his grasp trembled, maybe with the chill, probably not. It seemed a real possibility the boy's knees might give way, and Zechs felt a wash of anger directed entirely at one braided idiot.

The clueless moron arrived on scene. "Wufei! I—Oh, "he said. Duo pulled back from a tackling hug at the last second. "Who's he..?"

"Shut up," snarled Zechs.

Wufei's features clicked back into face, only they weren't his anymore. Treize slipped Wufei's glasses into a pocket, the motion still half-dazed, but Zechs knew immediately it was Treize. He knew by the subtle way the body relaxed into his hold, the slight tip of his head, the set of his jaw.

Treize looked around without seeming to move his eyes. "This is a pleasant surprise," he said. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Duo slugged him in the arm. "You're ruining a perfectly good reunion. But, whatever. Good to see you, Treize."

"Charming as ever," said Treize. He smiled.

Zechs let his hand drop. Treize favored him with a look that was part playful, part serious. "You're looking quite rejected. Do I want to know? Ah, don't answer. You should never have cause for such misery when I'm around, darling."

And then Treize wound up against him; if he were a cat, he'd be purring. "Goodness, am I cold. Lend me some of that wonderful body heat."

Zechs managed a light tone by sheer force of will. "I already gave you my jacket." He obligingly wrapped both arms around the smaller boy. He met Duo's stare with open defiance. Perhaps Zechs indulged in pettiness, but hell… he deserved it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Duo said slowly.

Zechs lifted his chin. "Whatever I want."

"Oh, yes," said Treize. The word came out muffled, pressed up against Zechs as he was. He shifted, turning his face to one side. Zechs could feel the top of the boy's head nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. "Yes, I like the sound of that."

Duo's brows made a swooping descent. "Seriously. Cut it out."

"Nope," said Zechs. He pulled Treize tight against him. "Warm enough?" he asked.

"No, this weather is dreadful. I demand more suitable accommodations at once."

A small, timid blond shadow crept around the far corner of the rest stop. Quatre came to a halt at the sight of them, with Trowa close at his heels. Duo kept frowning at Zechs with steady disapproval, and for all Zechs cared the idiot could just keep right on glaring. He'd seen something, underneath that whirlwind surprise on Wufei's face, and Zechs felt the burning coils of jealousy flaring open within him. Sure Treize could push things too far, but at that moment Zechs wanted precisely that. He wanted to claw Duo's face open. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

Zechs jerked his head toward Trowa and Quatre. "Your chariot awaits, Treize. Let's go."

"Why, this truly is a reunion. To whatever delight occasion do I owe this pleasure? Oh, dear. This isn't an intervention, is it?"

"Should it be?" Duo muttered.

Zechs ignored him and hoped that Treize did the same or, better yet, failed to catch the words.

Quatre came toward them with big-eyed wonderment. "Hello," he said cautiously. Trowa just lifted in hand in a sort-of wave, straight-faced and solemn.

Treize pulled slightly from the circle of Zechs's arms. "The whole hang, I see. Next you'll reveal what's behind curtain number two, and it'll be Relena, Dorothy, and dear old Doctor Richards. Ah, well, Barton would be an anachronistic addition to the soiree. I take it you've met Mil—" Treize snapped the nickname off before it could wholly form, and rushed through the verbal stumble. "My lovely Zechs, yes? And likewise Zechs, you've met the reigning silent game champion Trowa?"

"Yeah, Treize. We've met."

Trowa favored him with a strange look. It might have been a greeting or objection equally.

Treize surveyed their surroundings. "What a charming spit of nothing you've discovered. Is there a particular reason we've forsaken proper civilization?"

"You tell us," Duo said. "Shouldn't you know?"

"Me?" Treize arched the word with dripping sarcasm. "Perish the thought."

Duo muttered under his breath, the scorn too indistinct for Zechs to hear, although he caught the gist of it. Rusty wheels of thought turned themselves over in Zechs's mind. It wasn't like Wufei had chosen this out of the way rest stop, not if he was the one looking for help. Duo clearly chalked the trouble up to Treize's mischief, but Zechs knew the boy better than that. Such a prank, or whatever it was, wouldn't be in his style, and his denial seemed sincere. So if not Wufei and not Treize…

"How are you?" Quatre said, perfectly polite. "It's good to see you."

Treize flashed an insincere smile. "Is it? I would share such a sentiment if this little fete took place under more hospital conditions. I believe there was some mention of a chariot, and my awaiting of it therefore?"

"Oh, the car," said Quatre.

"Shotgun!" Duo burst into action, tearing over the sidewalk to reach the parking lot.

The rest of them filed along at a more sedated pace. Treize shrugged the leather jacket into position and slipped his arms into the too-long sleeves. It hung from him with comical excess. He shucked back one sleeve enough to free his hand, immediately taking hold of Zechs's as they walked. Quatre noticed, Zechs saw him look and turn pink. The little blond flicked a hesitate up to Trowa before hurrying to catch up with Duo by the car.

Zechs felt Treize misstep and falter to a halt. It was impossible not to notice, with their hands intertwined as they were. He had only time to stop and watch, as the switch came quickly. Quick enough, in fact, that they were still holding hands when Wufei settled into control. He blinked at Zechs with a bleary sort of confusion, not exactly tranced out like sometimes right after a switch, but more like he'd been sucker punched in a fight.

Zechs let go of Wufei's hand. It just dropped to the boy's side, heavy and loose within the jacket sleeve. Wufei just stared at him with eyes that lacked focus.

"They're in your pocket," Zechs said.

A swallow bobbed its way through Wufei's throat. "What?"

"Your glasses."

Wufei touched a hand to his face. "Oh."

"Hey!" Duo's shout carried through the air like a gunshot. It certainly made Wufei flinch like one.

"Here," said Zechs. He came close and slipped a hand into the open space of the jacket, where warmth had accumulated. A deft twitch of his hand brought the glasses up and out from the pocket where Treize had set them. Zechs carefully unfolded the earpieces and turned them toward Wufei's face.

Wufei tipped his head away. "Stop," he said quietly.

"I thought you'd want them," said Zechs.

Wufei snatched the wire frames out of Zechs's hand. He shoved them roughly into place, so that they sat crooked across his nose.

Duo barreled over to them. "Wufei! Hellooooo," he stretched the sound out until he collided with Wufei, nearly knocking the boy off his feet with the force of his hug. Both arms tight around Wufei, Duo swung them both back and forth like a pendulum. "Wuffy!"

It wouldn't have mattered if Wufei had put his glasses on proper, they'd be disheveled now with the way Duo was slinging him about. "Hello, Maxwell." Wufei didn't sound all the way right, or maybe that was just Zechs reading too much into things.

Duo grinned, vibrating with joy. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Wufei frowned at that. "I see," he said. Bypassing the peculiarity of Duo's statement, Wufei glanced back him to the car. "Is that Barton and Winner?"

"Yup! We all came out to see you. Oh, yay! I've missed you sooooo much, Waffles!" Duo squeezed him again.

Bright splashes of pink suffused Wufei's cheeks. "You've established that, Maxwell. Unhand me." But he smiled as he said it.

Zechs decided he would rather gouge his own eyes out than see that smile. It was sweeter and nicer than anything Wufei had ever given him, nicer even than any of the sly and wicked smiles that Treize gave him. A hollow void opened up within Zechs's chest. He could scarcely breathed around it.

"Don't be so grumpy," Duo teased back. He looped an arm through Wufei's elbow and dragged him forward. "Come on! We were just leaving."

"All right," said Wufei. He pulled his arm free of Duo and paused, glancing back to where Zechs still stood. "Are you coming, Peacecraft?"

Zechs shrugged. He couldn't trust his voice, not yet. Not with the fresh wounds still oozing over the cold lump in his throat. He did follow them, as he had few other options, although hitching a ride back to town with one of the truckers seemed preferable than suffering through an entire car ride filled with BFF Duo fucking Maxwell. Hell, he could hitch a ride further out of town. Just go. Didn't even matter where, so long as it wasn't _there_.

First Quatre and then Trowa greeted Wufei, the former all smiles and shy looks, the latter with the same stoic not-wave he'd given Treize. Duo jerked open the backdoor of the car, rather than try to claim his previous dibs on the front seat. "I wanna ride in back with Wufei."

"I'll sit up front with Trowa." Quatre glanced to the tall mute with a sideways smile. He seemed about half ready to burst into tears, and had ever since hooking up with Trowa at the diner. At some other time Zechs might have cared.

Everyone got arranged into the car. Duo tried to ride in the middle, claiming Wufei should get the more comfortable position, and Zechs braced for the great displeasure of sitting beside Duo the whole ride. Oddly enough Wufei buckled himself into the awkward middle seat before anyone could argue otherwise.

Duo spoke once they were back on the highway. "So how'd you get all the way out here?"

Zechs could have reached across and slapped him for being so tactless. Wufei clasped his hands together between his knees. He sat stiffly, careful not to touch either Zechs or Duo with any part of himself, but the cramped conditions made that difficult. He still wore Zechs's leather jacket, which sagged off his slim shoulders and bunched up around the lap belt.

"I can't say." Wufei shrugged. "I just did."

"Yeah?" Duo nudged him with an elbow. Wufei tightened his hands in a nervous response. Oblivious, Duo blundered right into an extremely abbreviated version of the events following Wufei's departure from the hospital. He glossed right over his own less flattering behavior, like running off on Quatre, or all the fights with Heero. In fact of Yuy he said simply, at the end, "Now we're all staying at Heero's, duh. I guess you know that."

Wufei nodded, clearly not paying close attention. He'd bound his hair back while Duo spoke, having found a hair tie within a pocket. The action served to draw Duo's attention, but despite his curious stare it was Quatre who piped up with, "How have you been, Wufei?"

"Fine," said Wufei automatically.

Naturally Duo could not let it rest at that. Nor could Quatre, who timidly pressed his own inquisition as to what Wufei had been up to since the last time they'd all seen each other. Wufei answered honestly, terse and formal. Until Duo, of course it would be Duo who would ask, pried at something perhaps too closely held. "How's it you've been chatting Zechs up on the side?"

His shoulders hunched, as if braced for a blow. For a moment, Wufei didn't say anything.

"Come on, Wooly." Duo grinned and nudged him again. "You're gonna hurt my feelings. How come you haven't been calling me, too? I thought you loved me! Aren't we besties?"

A slow, steady burn worked its way up the delicate line of Wufei's next. "He called me," Wufei said slowly, each small sound thrust out with heavy defense.

"Yeah? I figured something like that." Duo set a casual hand on Wufei's knee as he leaned forward to shoot Zechs a suddenly hostile look. "Looking for Treize, I bet."

Wufei swallowed. "Have you the heat on, Barton?"

Quatre turned around in his seat. "Oh! Sorry, Wufei. I was cold." He righted himself and fiddled with the vents.

"Hey, Wufei. Why don't you come over? For like dinner or whatever. We can all order a pizza and celebrate. Or whatever."

Wufei slipped a hand under the collar of his shirt and tugged at the fabric. After a moment he seemed to notice the borrowed jacket and struggled to free himself of it. "I am not certain that would be wise, Maxwell."

Zechs took back his jacket without comment, letting it just lie across his lap.

"Why not? It'll be fun!" Duo pouted out his lower lip. "I've missed you."

Wufei tucked his hands between his knees again, carefully drawn into the sliver of space between them. "I have missed you as well, Maxwell," he said quietly.

"Me too," said Quatre. He swiveled around once more. "I've missed you, too."

Even Trowa commented, in his own way. He made a gesture, just a flick of his hand, that everyone else seemed to understand. They all smiled, everyone but Zechs.

"Jesus. You're all acting like a fucking Hallmark commercial." He turned his face to the window, not wanting to see anymore.

"Don't be a killjoy," said Duo.

Zechs felt a bump against his knee. Maybe Wufei had just been shifting, but given the extreme care he'd taken so far with his space… Zechs glanced to the side, but Wufei was looking at Duo. He smiled, slightly, dark eyes bright. "Provided I can return on time, I suppose there is no harm."

Zechs wanted to object. _What about our plans? _He'd gone to the school, right as scheduled, and waited too damn long before just going to the house to look for Wufei. He wanted to know what it was Wufei had to tell him, what he'd promised to tell him. He wanted a time machine, to go back and head Wufei off as he left the halfway house that morning, or maybe to intercept his telephone call. Wufei hadn't asked after Duo, not after that first fight, but here they all sat in the close confines of Trowa's car with Wufei somewhat appropriately stuck in the middle.

Zechs hated every breath of air he had to share with Duo. He hated the nervous streak that set Wufei so on edge, but even more intensely did he hate the quiet way in which Wufei just fell right back into his old devotion. Just like at the hospital, Wufei had eyes only for Duo, like a small celestial body caught in the orbit of a bright, erratic star. Maybe Zechs understood Meiran a bit better now. He took no comfort in newfound empathy.

"Trowa. Hey, Trowa." Duo leaned forward, ignorant of the reaction his intrusion into Wufei's carefully won personal space caused. "Trowa."

Trowa tapped his fingers across the steering wheel in reply.

"Let's stop by the store and get party supplies. You're coming too, right? Q-q-mew?"

"Oh," said Quatre. He cast doe-like eyes at Trowa and got a slight, defensive hunch of the boy's shoulders in response. Quatre lowered his voice, although the close confines of the car eliminated any chance of privacy. "Did you want to?"

Trowa shrugged again.

"Doooo iiiiiit," drawled Duo. "You know you want to."

Trowa rolled his fingertips over the steering wheel.

"Okay," said Quatre. How he got agreement out of Trowa's enigmatic reply, Zechs would never understand. "But, did Catherine need you back soon?"

Trowa shook his head.

"Maxwell, you're cutting off the circulation to my leg," said Wufei.

"Sorry, 'Fei." Duo pulled himself out of the overflowing sprawl. "You know what really makes a party? We should have a real party. D'you think you can score us booze again, Zechs?"

"Oh, I don't—" Quatre stared to protest, his quiet voice just a bare brush of sound. At the same time, Wufei offered equal objection by saying, "Maxwell, that's—"

And Zechs overrode them both. "Abso-fucking-lutely. That's a _great_ idea. We've got a reunion to celebrate. No sense in doing it half-assed." Getting drunk sounded like the best. Zechs didn't even care it was Duo's suggestion.

Wufei snapped a quick, sharp look at him. Zechs held steady, almost glaring back. Startled confusion flew across Wufei's face, quick and delicate as birds taking flight. "Peacecraft," he said. There was not a follow up.

Trowa tapped his mute nonsense into the dashboard. Judging by Quatre's whisper-soft, "Are you sure?" he'd meant something like _chugalug_ with it.

"All right." Duo grinned. He rubbed an elbow into Wufei's side. "Gonna get you druuuuunk, Waffles! Waffles and whisky. Oh, get whisky, Zechs. I like the alliteration."

The frown grew sharper on Wufei's face. "I do not," he said. Another incomplete sentence, but this one broke off because he switched right in the middle of it. "You!" Shock flooded dark eyes.

"Me," Zechs agreed with a sigh. The car ride was about to take a precipitous decline into unpleasant, and Zechs suddenly felt grateful that he and Duo surrounded the exits. Also the fact they were in a moving vehicle racing down the highway, but Zechs wouldn't put that past her.

"What are you…" Meiran slowly faded into silence as she took in the rest of the situation. Huge-eyed and timid, Quatre stared over the top of his bear. Trowa kept his eyes on the ribbon of highway. Her gaze fell on Duo, right there beside her. "No way," she said.

Duo blinked stupidly. "Huh?"

To her credit, Meiran did not immediately start screaming. Zechs fully expected her to, and in fact had a hand ready to plug his ears. He also braced against potential wildcat violence. Instead Meiran quickly pocketed Wufei's glasses and set about fixing her hair.

"Oh, man. Hi, Meiran!" said Duo. "Complete set. In what, twenty minutes? That must be a record."

Meiran whirled on Zechs. She hit him square in the chest, a forceful punctuation of a sudden outcry. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Probably not."

Dark eyes smoldered. "Where's Ms. Noin?"

Zechs sighed. "Guess he wasn't supposed to call me."

Only the sullen answering silence confirmed his theory. He would've pressed her on it, maybe even gotten her to admit she'd been that reckless, but to say anymore risked too much a fiendish argument he desperately did not want to have in front of witnesses. Particularly in front of Duo, especially not if Meiran felt like throwing her punches below the belt. A suffocating quality to the air made him force a slow, careful breath.

"Of all the dumb things you've done," Zechs muttered. He turned again to the window, unable to look at Meiran without seeing a different flash of emotion on the same set of features.

"Let me out here," announced Meiran. The highway had just spit them out into the fringes of the city. She leaned forward and tapped Trowa on the shoulder. "Just here is fine."

Trowa wobbled a hand into the air. Even Zechs could figure out that meant, _No way_.

"What? Nuh-uh," said Duo. "It's cool, Meiran. We're going back to my place to celebrate. It'll be fun"

Meiran slumped back into place. Compared to Wufei's stiff caution, she overflowed the middle section of the backseat with vengeful slouching.

"You," she said to Zechs. She jutted an elbow into his kidneys. "Tell them to let me out."

Zechs shrugged and kept silent. It seemed safest, rather than trying to speak civilly to her.

"Is this car stolen? Do you even have a license?" she demanded of Trowa.

Quatre answered for the mute. "It's Catherine's car. Trowa does have his license. He's a good driver."

Saccharine sludge sentiment, but Zechs gave the kid a pass on it anyway. Didn't stop him from feeling resentful. He'd murder for the only problem to be an excess of silence. Well, maybe not. That slight twinge of regret sent forth a deluge, seeping cold into the blazing fury that filled him with Meiran's recklessness. He'd been the one to push her that far. She'd warned him, he couldn't try to say otherwise. He shared the blame, much as she did, maybe more so.

"You're all stupid for running away," Meiran said.

Only Quatre looked guilty. He looked horrendously guilty, past the point of appropriate and into suspicious. Duo just continued to frown with deepening confusion. He flicked the ragged end of his braid over his lips slowly, the plump pink skin catching the individual hairs like a paint stroke.

"What's got you turned so grumpy?" Duo asked. "I thought you'd be at least a little happy to see us."

Meiran started with, "I'd rather—" and shifted out of high-gear hostility into mild sarcasm mid-sentence. "Whatever. Yeah. I'm thrilled," she said.

Her lame conclusion only prompted Duo to try for conversation, but without much success. When the futility of his effort became clear, Duo leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. After some input from Quatre, who was the only occupant of the car willing to throw out suggestions, they settled on a bland pop station. Trowa contributed by notching the volume down one click.

When they arrived at the store, Zechs made sure to keep obnoxiously close to Meiran. She didn't seem ready to bolt, but he trusted nothing about her silent complacency. When she chafed the thin shirt material in a vain attempt at warmth, Zechs automatically offered his jacket. Meiran brushed away his chivalry with brusque insistence.

Inside the store, Duo tried to divide them for maximum efficiency, except his plan set Trowa and Quatre assigned to snacks, Zechs to booze, and Meiran with him to get the frozen pizza. Zechs started to object, not trusting Duo to keep a diligent eye on Meiran, but fell into silence when Meiran abruptly let down her hair

"Well that was fast," said Duo.

Zechs had to agree, but he wisely kept it to himself. Entirely too much switching and, although Zechs would be the first admit he certainly was no expert in the matter, he felt confident that he had enough experience to decide that this type of rapid-fire swapping was unusual. If Duo was commenting on it especially, since he'd infuriatingly lived in close enough quarters with Wufei for a year to know something about normal.

And somehow Zechs knew that Duo Maxwell was to blame. He could only assume, after all, knowing all that he did about Wufei's feelings for the braided idiot. Probably the stress of it all - would that be enough to trigger it? Zechs considered the day Wufei spent in the pacing the library, cycling through personalities like shuffling a deck of a cards.

If Zechs was smart, he'd connive some way excuse to get Wufei free of any hang out obligations. Well, if he was smart, Zechs wouldn't even be in this situation, and neither would Wufei. A distinctly clear line of events stretched behind him, starting with that morning and leading all the way back to a melodramatic encounter with the sharp edge of a razor. Any deviation from that path of stupidity would mean his escape from the current undesirable predicament. But Zechs was not smart, as the scars on both wrists could attest, and he'd be damned either way for it.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Oh, my gosh, I am SO sorry this is nearly 2 months late! I could sit here and spin excuses, but the plain truth of the fact is that I failed to make this a priority. Also I was incredibly busy. Mostly I just neglected to write and/or type, and for that I'm incredibly sorry. Hopefully I'll get back on track with this update and the next, although there's no guarantee – summer is a difficult time for me for a lot of reasons.

Please throw me your kind thoughts and encouragement! I'll endeavor to update as soon as I can.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	85. Incendiary

LSC / 07-29-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Five: Incendiary)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 85

**Incendiary**

* * *

"I totally don't like this."

Quatre looked over to Duo and for a moment thought the disparaging remark referred to the sour cream potato chips. He even reached a hand out to reclaim them from the grocery conveyor belt before realizing what Duo had to mean. Following Duo's line of sight revealed Treize and Zechs to be the intended targets. They stood close together just beyond the exit, not quite touching, but with Treize tipped close into the tall blond's personal space. Zechs slouched, hands in the pockets of his jeans with the plastic shopping bag looped into an elbow. As Quatre watched, the automatic doors slid closed, obscuring the two from sight.

"It's good to see Wufei again," said Quatre. He wanted to keep neutral and walk the fine tightrope between not brushing off Duo's concerns and not encouraging his jealous streak.

Duo's brows swept together into a tight furrow. "He's supposed to be staying away from Treize. Wasn't that the deal? Wufei got slugged in the face over it, remember?"

"I remember," said Quatre. He tipped his face down, hiding from Duo's attention. "But..."

"But what?"

The last of their purchases slid across the clerk's scanner, and she announced the total between smacks of gum. Quatre reached automatically for his wallet, but Trowa beat him to it with the money already out and waiting. He waved away Quatre's soft protests.

"Thanks, Tro," said Duo. He grabbed the bulk of the shopping bags and rushed for the doors, which glided open obediently to reveal Zechs and Treize still enraptured with only each other. Quatre waited for Trowa, who took the last bag. That left Quatre with nothing to carry except Sandy, hidden up under his arm as best he could manage.

They all piled back into the car, with Treize snugged right up against Zechs. The positioning came against Duo's protest, and he folded himself against the door to fix Zechs with a glowering sulk. Zechs slung a casual arm over Treize, tucking the smaller boy against his side, and met Duo's glare with high and haughty defiance. Quatre had to agree with Duo that it seemed strange given what'd happened between Zechs and Wufei at the hospital, but unlike Duo he wouldn't be the one to interfere.

"Oh, is this where you've been staying?" Treize spoke as they approached Heero's apartment. Trowa circled around carefully to find an open parking spot, and even though that left them not far to walk, Treize successfully demanded and received Zechs's jacket to counter the chill air.

"Yeah," said Zechs.

Duo shot the two of them a quick, calculating look. "You didn't tell him?"

Treize swiveled his attention from Duo to Zechs. "Tell me what? Heavens, have you been staying with Maxwell this whole time?"

"Something like that," muttered Zechs.

Duo abruptly let out a clear and distinct laugh, more force than mirth. "Oh, my God," he said. "We're idiots. Complete and utter idiots."

"What? What is it?" Quatre hurried close to the door, Trowa right on his heels.

Duo rapped his fist against the apartment building's front door. "No one's upstairs to buzz us through, and I don't have the key. I totally forgot about the stupid security system. We should have left Zechs behind as the anchor."

"It was my idea to go."

"Quatre, then."

"Because Trowa would just jump at the – you know what? Not worth the waste of breath." Zechs surveyed the locked door, the speaker panel, and then settled his gaze on Treize. He suddenly grinned, something feral and triumphant leaping into his features.

"Oh, I like that look," said Treize.

"Hey," said Zechs. He lifted the shopping bag on his arm, which contained the recently purchased alcohol. "Let's me and you blow out. Thanks for the lift, Trowa. We'll see you kids later."

"All right," said Treize, all pleasant and agreeable.

Duo stepped between them. "Hey! I don't think so. No way. We can go up the back staircase, it's not a big deal. The lock's busted on the window in Heero's room."

Zechs shrugged. "You have fun with that. We're leaving."

"This is Heero Yuy's apartment?" Treize looked between Zechs and Duo, and then over at Quatre and Trowa. "How long have you been here?"

"Does it matter? Let's go, Treize. I'll play you pool again, or something else. Whatever you want."

The boy folded his arms in an unmistakably Treize-like gesture. "Much as that proposition thrills me, I'm exceptionally curious to observe firsthand how an individual of Heero Yuy's notoriety lives. Are the walls properly padded? No, wait. Don't tell me. You'll ruin the surprise."

"Treize..." Zechs bit off the rest of whatever he meant to say, clearly unwilling to plead the point further.

They crossed around to the narrow alley behind the building. Two massive dumpsters took up much of the space, causing them to squeeze through single file to reach the fire escape. Duo jumped and fell shy of pulling down the lowest rung of the ironwork. Even on tip-toe, Zechs could only bat uselessly at the curve of metal. He beckoned Treize over and then knelt down to wrap both arms around the boy's thighs.

"Hello," said Treize, grinning.

"Ha," muttered Zechs. "Grab my shoulder so you don't get knocked off balance." He straightened, easily hoisting Treize up to reach the elusive rung.

"Teamwork!" cheered Duo. "That's clever thinking."

Quatre looked up at the narrow line of the staircase... and up, and up, and, _oh my Lord_, you could see straight through the grating. He swallowed a lump of hard anxiety and clutched Sandy tight. He could go up a stupid staircase. So long as he didn't look down it wouldn't be a problem. The staircase was likely safe, even though it did look like a flimsy, too-tall, too-narrow, deadly totally not safe evil flight of certain doom.

He was distracted from skittering, hysterical thoughts by Duo suddenly thrusting an armful of plastic shopping bags toward him. "No sense in hauling all this crap up this thing," he said. "You guys can go wait out front. I'll buzz everyone through."

Quatre shifted his bear to the side and took the groceries. Was it just his paranoid imagination, or did Duo seem to staring at him a little too carefully? A slow flush rose its way up his face. "Okay," he said, trying not to sound too eager. No sense in blowing his cover, especially if Duo hadn't connected the dots, but something in the smile that the older boy gave him told Quatre that likely wasn't the case.

Duo charged up the fire escape two steps at a time. "Heero should get a place on, like, floor two! This is ridiculous." His voice carried nicely over the rattling sound of the unsteady metal. Quatre followed the rest of them out of the alley rather than stick around and potentially witness the fire escape crashing down into a twisted hulk of disaster. It probably was safe.

"So," said Treize, shaping a crisp and distinct sound out of the word. "How is life under Heero Yuy's considerable hospitality?"

"Um," said Quatre, as neither Trowa nor Zechs seemed likely to respond. "It's okay." He set the groceries on the front step while they waited for Duo to make it up the stairs and into the apartment.

"Okay," Treize repeated. He slid a sly look up at Zechs. "Does that seem like a fair assessment to you?"

"Sure," said Zechs. He punctuated the lackluster response with a shrug.

"Merely okay. Well, I suppose that's preferable to hearing that you've been suffering all this time. Although if I remember correctly it hasn't been all this time, has it? Might I inquire where you were staying before arriving at casa de lunatic?"

"Nowhere," Zechs said at once. "Leave it, Treize. Don't try bullying answers out of Quatre. He's too nice to tell you to shut up and mind your own business."

"Ouch. That hit a nerve," Treize said. "You do nothing to diminish my already considerable curiosity."

"We were staying in hotels," said Quatre. It was the truth, even if not the whole truth, and he spoke rashly with only thoughts of keeping the two from forming an fight right in front of him.

"I see," said Treize. He nudged an elbow into Zechs. "You'll owe me some answers later."

Zechs looked up, either seeking out the windows to Heero's apartment or simply searching the overcast sky. After a moment he just shrugged and lowered his gaze. "Sure."

The lock snapped open on the door at that moment, the sound nearly buried under the sudden burst of static from the speaker panel. Trowa stood closest to the door, and he grabbed the handle before the security system could trap them right back into the same conundrum.

Once upstairs in the apartment, Treize demanded and received a guided tour courtesy of Duo. It struck Quatre as unnecessary, since almost the entire apartment could be taken in with a glance from the front door. Treize exclaimed over each of Heero's methodical notes, which Quatre had almost stopped noticing. The two of them disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Zechs and Trowa to dump out the collected sundries.

Zechs hauled down an assortment of glassware, trying for a matching set and failing since most of Heero's place settings bore marks of having been accumulated rather than purchased to match. He lined up five glasses and poured out a measure of the amber-hued alcohol into each. Trowa reached over and covered one of the glasses before he could, however, and shook his head to emphasize the point.

"None for you?" Zechs guessed.

Trowa nodded.

"You sure?"

Trowa nodded again. He swirled a vague looping gesture between them. Zechs twitched a frown at him, clearly not understanding the excuse, but after a moment just shrugged and poured extra into one of the other glasses. "More for me, then."

Duo emerged out from the bedroom, still guiding Treize through the apartment in a parody of a museum docent. "Here's a lovely stain that is not hopefully not human blood. I estimate it's age to be approximately three years B.H. – that's Before Heero, of course. He (most likely) hasn't murdered anyone in here. Through this door is an interesting specimen of interior decoration. There's actually a kind of funny story behind it… emphasis on kind of funny." Duo reached for the second bedroom door.

"Don't," said Zechs. "Don't go in there."

"Why not?" Duo paused, the knob twisted but the door not yet cracked open.

"My stuff's in there."

"So? It's my room, if you haven't noticed."

Zechs moved around the bar. "Just don't."

"I want to see," said Treize. He smiled at Zechs, features too sinful to ever be mistaken for Wufei, even though they were technically identically – the same face, rendered into a different person's by a force of personality. Having been so long separated from Wufei, Quatre had forgotten entirely how disorienting the effect could be.

"Leave it, Treize."

"I think not."

Zechs reached them and took a firm grip on the boy's elbow. "I'm serious."

"What's so secret in there? Have you another boy stashed away, or some particularly naughty literature? Now I'm decidedly and overly curious."

Zechs leaned over and threw open the door. "There. Nothing inside but junk, okay?"

Treize threw him a wary glance. "Whatever you say, my Prince of Ice."

Duo snickered. "What?"

Zechs still had hold of Treize's arm, and he lead him toward the kitchen with an almost chivalrous overtone. "Here. I made you a drink."

"I'll grab some cards!" Duo clapped his palms together. "We can teach Trowa and Wufei that game of yours. It'll be fun. Be right back." He dashed for the bedroom.

Treize reached out and tapped a nail against the liquor bottle. "Actual glass, not plastic. I'm surprised you sprung for the luxury label."

"I know you hate the cheap stuff," Zechs said.

"How kind of you," said Treize. He took a long drink and then lowered the glass, straight back on to the counter. Dark eyes drifted out of focus for a moment.

"I got a deck!" Duo burst back into the room brandishing out the cards.

Wufei spun toward him, one hand giving his glasses a final adjustment. "Cards?" he repeated. He glanced quickly around at the apartment. Treize had been standing rather close to Zechs, and Wufei took a careful step of retreat to put space between them.

"Yeah! It's a fun game. You're always kicking my ass at games anyway, so don't worry." Duo bounced over and bumped a shoulder into Wufei.

Wufei studied the counter top with intensity. "What are the rules?"

"I dunno, a bunch of convoluted crap. It's more fun when you half forget the rules anyway. Zechs taught it to us. Here, come on, sit next to me near the probably-not-blood stain." Duo grabbed two of the drinking glasses and gang-pressed Wufei into place.

Everyone settled into a circle and began to play the silly card game, although with much less enthusiasm than the first go-around the previous week. Duo quickly realized the impossibility for Trowa to play along, considering how many of the cards required talking, and since Trowa wasn't drinking and Quatre was (in very tiny sips), Duo declared the two of them to be on the same team. Quatre shot Trowa a timid glance, thinking the boy might be upset with the arrangement, but Trowa just seemed content to sit exceptionally near to Quatre. It made him blush.

Wufei gripped his cards tight enough to set a crease in them. After an entire run-through of the deck and them some extra rounds, he called it quits. "I do not want to do this anymore," he announced.

"You have to say it in a question," said Duo. "Those are the rules. Remember, Woozles?"

Wufei frowned. "Why don't we play a different game?"

"I like this one. It's fun." Duo puckered his lips into an exaggerated pout. "Aren't you having fun?"

"Ah." Wufei adjusted the bridge of his glasses. "Ah," he said again. Not quite stammering, as the soft sounds of distress may have indicated, but stalling through the window for a coherent response nevertheless.

Duo's mouth spread into a wicked grin. "We could switch to strip poker."

Pink crept up behind Wufei's ears. "Definitely not, Maxwell."

"Aha! That's supposed to be in a question! Don't forget. Let's see... We could play spin the bottle."

Wufei glowered silently in response. Zechs shifted, as if to say something, the ice blue of his gaze fixed on Wufei's glare. Duo rushed headlong and heedlessly into the silence. "I know! Truth or Dare."

Duo's suggestion coincided with Wufei taking a reluctant sip of his drink. Wufei made a panicked, choking sound deep in his throat at Duo's outburst. Red faced and coughing, Wufei struggled to shake his head with deliberate, jerking motions. Zechs laid a hand across the boy's shoulders in an attempt to help.

"Breathe, Woozles." Duo laughed.

Quatre glanced at Trowa, who met his flicking gaze squarely. In the little well of quiet between them, Quatre caught a faint sound. Metal against metal, scraping at first and then smooth as the lock slid open. He leaned so as to see around Trowa to the front door. He should have thought to warn Duo, even though it was too late for them to do anything.

The apartment door swung open to reveal Heero, grease-stained and exhausted after a long day of work. By routine and habit, his keys found the small bowl by the door, but otherwise Heero stood shock-still and staring. Quatre watched as the sharp flinch of Heero's gaze went from the kitchen counter with its open bottle of whisky, to their social circle with its additional members, and landed at last on the rainbow smear of color streaked across the wall. After a brief consideration, Heero looped back through the same bewildered series of stares.

Duo noticed before Quatre had to say anything. "Heero!" he cheered. Duo bolted to his feet, nearly tripped over Wufei, and started across the room.

Wufei looked as though he'd swallowed something offensive in all the choking just prior. Quatre uneasily recalled the jealous animosity that lay between Wufei and Heero. Zechs, oddly enough, perked up with a smug, cat-ate-the-canary grin.

"What is this?" Fury and frustration rumbled like an encroaching thunderstorm in Heero's voice when he spoke. The harsh words paralyzed Duo in midstride.

Duo shifted, glancing back at his friends and the wall art beyond. "This is a party. That is a rainbow." He pointed to each in turn. "It's a work in progress, though, so hold your critique until I polish off the_ piece de resistance_."

Hesitation glimmered across Heero's face like a lightning bolt. As always when confronted with a flippant answer from Duo he seemed to suffer difficulty in parsing out the sarcasm from the actual content. Heero looked again from the wall to each of them, lingering the longest on Wufei. "What are they doing here?"

"Duh, party central. Didn't I just say that?" Duo judged it safe again to approach and closed the last distance between them. "You remember Trowa and Wufei, of course. Here, come join us. Have a drink. We're playing a game." Duo grabbed Heero's hand in both his own.

Heero remained intractably rooted in place beside the front door. "No."

Duo swung their clasped hands between them. "Yeah! It'll be fun. Don't be a sourpuss. We're gonna cook the frozen pizzas here in a second, so you won't have to worry about cooking. And by we I mean Q or T or 'Fei – don't worry, I won't try operating the oven. You know I'd find a way to fuck up even idiot-proof shit like frozen pizza."

A nerve jumped in Heero's jaw. His iron-sharp glare slid from Duo to the wall and back. Before he could say anything about the pastel streaks, Duo smiled with sugary sweet reassurance. "It'll look better when I'm done."

"The lease prohibits painting the walls."

"So? Don't invite your landlord up for tea."

"This jeopardizes my security deposit."

"Fuck it."

Heero glared.

Duo glanced at the offending mural. "Just paint over it before you move. Seriously, Heero, your apartment sucks. You need a major re-dec in a bad way – trust me. I'll do the kitchen in like bright fucking magenta or something equally rad."

Whatever Heero replied with came too low for Quatre to discern the actual words, but it sounded like the low rumble of thunder. The easy smile on Duo's face dropped into a sulking sort of scowl, the exact kind of exasperation he usually showed just before one of his and Heero's explosive fights.

Quatre shifted uneasily and looked to Zechs, thinking to find a peacemaking ally. Zechs failed to noticed, as he was entirely stuck on watching Wufei without seeming to. It set Quatre's mind whirling over possibilities. A lot of little puzzle pieces started to come together in that moment, with Wufei watching Duo and Zechs watching Wufei.

Duo's voice broke into Quatre's mental wanderings. "Don't be a downer."

"Everyone must leave," Heero announced, in that iron-clad way of his.

"No way," countered Duo.

"Yes."

"Absolutely not, you bully. Go to your room if you don't want to celebrate Wufei's belated liberation party, or whatever the hell the theme of this shindig is. Don't ruin this."

Rather than argue further, Heero closed a grip over Duo's hands. He started for the bedroom, no doubt taking the fight to private quarters. Duo balked, ready to throw his typical protest.

And then Wufei got to his feet in one smooth motion. Quatre felt that was a sharp idea; they'd all just leave as Heero wanted. Wufei did not leave, however. He spoke.

"Where are you going?" The words came out unsteady, clumsily forceful; a weak impression of his usual stern composure.

"Nowhere," said Duo quickly. He dug in his heels to create a comical imbalance between him and Heero's considerable determined strength.

Wufei stepped over the abandoned cards. "Is this how it is?"

"What?" Duo flailed and got free of Heero. A wary suspicion dominated the look he gave Wufei. "It's cool, 'Fei. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't going to say anything—"

"Then don't."

"—but it's clear to me that _this_," Wufei looked pointed at Heero, "isn't right."

Duo flashed a nervous look between Wufei and Heero. "Seriously, don't start. Come on. Everyone just chill. Please?"

Heero closed Duo's elbow into the steel vise of his grip. "Get rid of them," he said. Either the way he spoke or the harsh way Heero's fingers dug into his arm made Duo wince.

Wufei interjected himself firmly into the middle of things and brushed Heero away with force of personality alone. "Unhand him. Do not speak to him like that."

"Wufei, stop it." Panic flared across Duo's face. "It's okay. Heero's just mad I wrecked his walls, yeah? And he's got work early tomorrow, so we should keep it down for him. Okay, Heero? We'll be quiet, promise. You can have some pizza, won't that be nice? It'll save you from cooking. And we won't make a lot of noise, I swear. You won't even notice us, if you want to tinker on that blender you got the other day, or whatever. Why don't you go shower and change and when you get done we'll have dinner ready, and I can take a sponge to the wall and try to get the pastel off, okay?" Duo spun out rapid fire pleading at a dizzying pace.

Heero shifted his glare between Duo and Wufei. With a palpable air of defeat, Heero turned silently for the bedroom alone, no doubt to do precisely as Duo suggested and clean the day's labor from himself. Duo's shoulder sagged with relief as he watched the retreat.

Wufei still boiled with fury. As soon as the bedroom door closed behind Heero, he said, "You can't let him treat you like that."

"Hey," warned Duo. "Just it let go."

"I will not," said Wufei. "You're being incredibly foolish. Did you learn nothing from last time?"

"Zechs, come magic edible substances from these boxes," Duo said. He stalked to the kitchen and then jerked open the freezer door. The frozen pizzas hit the counter with a dull thud.

"Do it yourself," said Zechs.

Quatre bolted to his feet as if zapped, drawing a startled look from Trowa. "I'll help!"

"Yeah?" Duo tried a smiled under the tight, worried furrow of his brow. "Thanks, Q. I'm a disaster in the kitchen, trust me. Setting only the pizza on fire would be a best-case scenario."

"You can't just ignore this." Wufei crossed his arms over his chest. "This situation you're in. Does Yuy just accept you've abandoned any semblance of medical treatment? Is that how it is?"

"Holy crap, 'Fei. I totally don't think that's any of your business."

It only gave Wufei a momentarily pause. "It's entirely my concern, as your friend. Winner and Peacecraft – of course they would have gone along with such foolishness. They're don't know, they weren't there. Barton – Barton," Wufei latched on to Trowa with a desperate look. "He'll back me on this."

"What are you talking about?" Duo stepped aside to let Quatre at the oven.

"April," said Wufei. The word sounded like a swear the way he threw it out, and Duo reacted as if slapped.

"That was a long time ago," said Duo carefully.

Wufei waved the excuse aside. "And June, for that matter, if you'd prefer a more recent citation of your reckless endangerment of everyone around you."

"What about June?" demanded Duo.

The skin between Quatre's shoulders itched as he came under sudden scrutiny.

Heat rushed into Duo's cheeks. "Okay, sure, but that was my fuck up. That had nothing to do with Heero."

"It had everything to do with Yuy. Everything about you always has something to do with Yuy."

"God, Wufei. Let it go already. I'm, whatever, I'm over what happened in April. Quatre and I, June, that's between us, and we're cool. Stop digging up old graves."

"Winner, is this true?"

"Um," said Quatre. Trowa slipped into the crowded kitchen and moved up close to him. Quatre quickly settled the pizza-laden cookie sheet into the oven rather than answer. When he straightened up from the task, Quatre realized Trowa had actually come to join the argument. He threw out a quick series of cryptic signs, something from their shared hospital days that Duo and Wufei understood but Quatre did not.

Duo recoiled. "That's hardly fair, Tro!"

"You can't accuse Barton of lying." Wufei cracked a triumphant smile.

"Trowa, what the fuck. Don't hurl me under the bus."

"I can't believe you would drag Winner and Peacecraft into this."

"Hey, running off what tiny-Q's idea, and Zechs practically begged us to come along."

"It's true," said Quatre. He owed Duo at least that much.

Wufei shook his head. "I mean more than just running away – although for you in particular I have some choice words to say about that. I mean _this_." He gestured around at the drab confines of Heero's apartment. "It's a damned disaster waiting to happen and you know it."

"That's not fair," said Duo. "That's exceptionally not fair. Heero's not – he's – I mean, come on. You _never_ gave Heero a fair chance, not even before April. Like, day fucking one you've hated him, and I don't get what the hell he ever did to you. It really sucks for me, Wufei. Haven't you ever stopped to consider that? I hate getting stuck against you like this. You're my best friend (no offense, Quatre), but don't you get it? I love Heero."

The color drained from Wufei's face, leaving him ashen and hollow-eyed. Horrible silence stretched past the point of awkward and into intolerable. Motion caught Quatre's eye as, across the living room, Zechs stumbled to his feet.

"There you have it," said Zechs. The words dripped biter venom. "The idiot's in love."

Wufei's throat constricted over a reflexive swallow. "You're wrong."

Duo stared back at him in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"I know how he treats you. I know what I've seen. That isn't _love_. He never called you, never came to visit, he's always making excuses and bossing you around. You just – you've got all this fire and light but the moment he's around it all just goes away. You bend to his will; he's like this, this cold shadow threatening to overwhelm you. It isn't right, what he does to you. You might have forgotten April, but I haven't. I heard you screaming at him – everyone heard you screaming, the whole ward and then some. Like your heart was being ripped out. You were a wreck afterward. Don't you remember?"

Duo dropped his eyes to the floor, uncharacteristically timid under Wufei's whirlwind burst. "It wasn't like all that," he said at last, in a small and broken kind of way.

"How?" Wufei's anger was a terrible thing to behold. "Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me Yuy had the right idea dragging you back to the hospital – lying to you, betraying you like that. Tell me you'd let him do it again. Just try and tell me you wouldn't sink right down into that hole again if he did. You look at me, Maxwell, and lie to my face that I don't have the truth of it."

"I wouldn't let him. I wouldn't do it. I'm not going back this time."

"Yes, you are."

Quatre startled at the sudden interjection of Heero's voice and was not the only one to do so. Duo puffed up like a cat, probably more in reaction to the almost-bewildered content of Heero's words than anything. Barefoot and dressed in well-worn jeans with a plain grey shirt, Heero crossed the empty expanse of the apartment to join the crowd spilling out from the kitchen. The wet, unruly tumble of his hair gleaned darkly in the cheap incandescent lighting.

"Heero," said Duo. Multiply layers of emotion squeezed awkwardly into the syllables of the his name. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"No," said Heero.

Wufei straightened his shoulders, visibly drawing all his inconsiderable height. Only a breath taller than Quatre, he fell shy of both Duo and Heero despite neither being tall. The gesture only served to highlight Wufei's nervousness.

"So you do intend to have him committed again." Wufei bit the accusation out without actually looking at Heero.

Heero seemed unaware of the hostility. "Yes. That is what we agreed."

"Heero! Not now! Oh, my God, now is completely and totally not the time to have this discussion, okay? I never agreed to anything."

Heero's brow creased with concern. "I heard yelling."

"You heard a lot of nonsense," said Zechs. He draped himself unsteadily against the edge of the bar which separated the kitchen space from the rest of the open room. "A lot of screeching over nothing, that's what." He poured an inelegant amount of alcohol over the ice in his empty glass.

"Just so we're clear," said Wufei. He jut a finger toward Duo."He's going back to the hospital."

"Yes," said Heero, with the prompt relief of a direct question. Duo flinched.

"And if Maxwell doesn't want to go?"

Duo and Heero spoke right on top of each other, but Duo was louder and faster, so the only thing Quatre heard was, "It's still up for debate." Duo shot Heero a definite _look_. "Nothing been decided."

Wufei couldn't help but gloat. "Nothing's changed. See, Maxwell?"

"Don't, Wufei. You don't know, okay? This doesn't prove anything. Just let it go."

"I will not," said Wufei.

"Why do you care so much?" Duo actually stamped his foot into the tile flooring, so great was his frustration. "What gives, Wufei? What's all this for? Seriously, why?"

Wufei started to reply. His mouth opened to spill forth some excuse or a lie or maybe a quick diversion from the crux of the matter. Before he could make so much as a breath of sound, Zechs doused ice cold truth into the heartbeat of open hesitation. "He's jealous."

Quatre's breath caught. The shuttered look of panic on Wufei's face betrayed the veracity of Zechs's thoughtless words. High blotches of color bloomed over the sickly-white tint of Wufei's face. Duo shifted a bewildered stare from stricken Wufei to callous Zechs.

Zechs calmly drained his drink under the scrutiny before speaking again. "Wufei's probably got the right of it. Yuy's fucked up but, then again, so are you. Two glorious fuck-ups. You might deserve each other, but you sure as hell don't deserve Wufei. Hell if I'll ever understand it. _Fuck_ all if I've ever understood anything. Why's anyone _ever_ bothered to love anyone?"

Zechs pushed the empty glass aside. He swept the whole rest of the bottle off the counter with one hand and gripped a fistful of leather jacket in the other. He slung the jacket over one shoulder and was halfway to the door before anyone could react with anything other than stunned silence.

"Where are you going?" asked Wufei, in a decidedly strangled tone.

Zechs threw open the apartment door. "Away," he said flatly.

Something spasmed over Wufei's face. "Peacecraft—"

The door slammed shut on whatever objection Wufei thought to form. The sound reverberated into the apartment, amplified by the silence that preceded and followed it.

Wufei stared at the closed door with such intensity, as if he sheer will he could conjure Zechs back through the painted wood. A long moment stretched in which no one talk, no one moved, and Quatre barely drew breath for fear of shattering the delicate imbalance.

"What the fuck?" said Duo at last. "What the fucking fuckity fuck-what?"

The spell broken, Wufei jolted a quick glance to Duo. "I should go," he said.

Trowa reached into his pocket for the car keys.

"No," said Duo quickly. "Stay. Don't go. Let's play poker or Go Fish or something. You and me, and Trowa, we can teach Heero and Quatre how to play Spades again, or Hearts. Or, hell, a million card games. We learned a ton of them, you and me."

Wufei shrugged. He spoke hesitantly, weighing each sound with calculated thought. "Some other time, Maxwell. This has been enough for today."

"If this is about what Zechs – what he said. Look, I'm not going to take that seriously. No one's going to take that seriously. You can't ever take anything he says seriously. He's a mean drunk and a worse roommate, trust me. I don't know why you've been hanging around him this whole time or whatever, but, the dude's trouble with a capital C for crazy. Okay, that's a bit harsh, he has been a real pro at the whole runaway thing. But he's like a mad dog sometimes. You just can't listen to that verbal poison he spews. Especially when he gets to drinking."

Wufei squared his shoulders. "I consider Peacecraft a friend."

Duo rolled his eyes. "Holy hell. So let me indulge for a moment in hurling rocks from my glass castle over here and everything, but, legit, 'Fei? Did living on the outside give you a goldfish memory or something? He laid you out, Waffles. Remember? In Dickie's office, kapow, just because—"

"I remember, Maxwell. I do not require a play-by-play of the events. My memory is fine."

"Okay, so," Duo pressed. "Then you have to agree it's totally suspicious he's hanging around you again. Think, Wufei. Come on. Why would he do that?"

Wufei narrowed his eyes at Duo. "You are jumping to incorrect assumptions, Maxwell. Now, as I said, I am leaving. No need for the ride, Barton, as much as I appreciate the offer. I can take the bus."

Duo caught a light hand against Wufei's sleeve to detain him. "You're not going after stupid Zech, are you? Let him sulk in peace."

"What I decide to do is none of your concern."

"Wufei, hey. Don't. Look— shit. I hate doing this to you, damn it, but you've got the right to know. Fucking Zechs," Duo muttered. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, bracing himself to delivery bad news. "He's after Treize again. I saw them, you know? All mushy eyed and familiar, so who knows how long that's been going on… Probably so long as Zechs has been acting like your best buddy, or whatever. You gotta keep away from him, 'Fei. It's just wrong, what he's doing, it's just wrong to use you like that. He's likely to blow up at you again if you try to stop him now, and Dickie won't be around to hog-tie him this time. Okay, Wufei? Promise me you'll stay out of that mess."

Wufei stared at Duo with something inscrutable dashed across his face. He turned away without saying anything. Duo reached again to catch Wufei's hand, but the boy shrugged him off with deliberate care. He slipped from the apartment with the small sound of door latching shut behind him for an answer.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Whew! Barely on time. I self-appointed myself an update schedule of once a week, and hopefully I'll be able to stick to it. Thank you very much for the kind and encouraging feedback last time, especially since I was so overdue on the update. I'm always floored by your responses.

I've got a lot to juggle in the upcoming chapters, but I'm excited to get to it. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	86. Flutter

LSC / 07-31-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Six: Flutter)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 86

**Flutter**

* * *

"Well," said Duo. He slammed the door on the tail end of Trowa and Quatre making a tactful retreat. "That went to hell awfully fast. Some party."

Heero surveyed his apartment, turned upside down and painted with chromatic glory. He seemed at a loss for words, or perhaps unable to focus on any one particular offense long enough to form a coherent criticism. Duo figured the safest route was to immediately steer Heero away from the one topic he definitely most assuredly did not want to discuss – had to at some point, he couldn't put it off forever (or maybe he could; challenge accepted).

"I can probably get pastel off the wall pretty easy if you really hate it that much," said Duo.

Heero glared down the rainbow like it owed him money. "I don't hate it," he said at last.

"But it's against the rules. Right. Gotcha. Rules good, breaking them bad. I get it, Heero. I don't know what I was thinking, really. Guess I wasn't thinking. One of those 'seemed like a good idea' at the time kind of situations."

"Were you drunk?"

"When, what, Picasso's gay pride period cast its unholy inspiration upon me? No. Just being stupid, no alcohol necessary for that. I did it before everyone came over. And, whatever, we just barely had time to hang out so before you ask, no, I'm not drunk now either. Zechs took the whole damn bottle with him anyway, so that's not likely to change until you hurry the fuck up and hit twenty-one." Duo grinned at him, intending the words to be playful.

Heero just frowned. Duo regretted speaking so quickly; he could tell when half the stuff he said just flew right into Heero's brain and swirled around in a big huge jumble without sticking. Like one of those money cages with all the dollar bills flying around you had to snatch out of the air to keep, and poor Heero without a net to help him out.

"You can't drink," said Heero.

"Aha, wrong. I totally _can_. I just did. A little, I swear, not drunk now."

"You shouldn't," Heero clarified. "I mean to say you shouldn't drink."

"Why not? Because it's against the rules?"

"Yes. No." Heero hesitated. "I don't know."

"Not a very convincing argument you got there, 'ro." Duo smiled. If he talked careful circles around Heero long enough, he could push certain other topics into the dark abyss of never-fucking-going-there.

"Not because you're underage," said Heero. "You can't – you shouldn't drink alcohol with your prescription."

"Psh, don't be silly. I'm not taking my—" Duo froze. His brain, a heartbeat too slow, caught up with his mouth and sent up a big flashing warning sign to shut the fuck up.

Entirely too late. Way too late. He saw the glint in Heero's eye that insured his defeat. Duo had wandered right into a spring-loaded verbal trap – not that Heero had been clever enough to set it, no, Duo could be stupid all on his own without any assistance necessary, thank you. Before Heero could pounce on the slip up and ruin everything, the literal fucking bell came to Duo's rescue in the form of the oven timer.

Heero reached for the oven handle. "Oven mitt!" Duo warned.

A wave of blistering heat filled the small space of the kitchen as Heero set about freeing the pizza, now with one hand properly clad in the thickly quilted mitt. Duo leaned over and flicked the oven off before Heero could forget and burn the whole damn building down.

"It is too hot to eat now," announced Heero. He rattled the cookie sheet into position across the stove burners.

"Yup." Duo managed a shocking amount of sarcasm into the snapped syllable.

Heero fixed him with a _look_. "You're cycling again."

"What?" The sound of his own voice surprised Duo. It came out breathless and floaty, all funny sounding and sucker-punched. Duo swallowed a desert and battered up a grin. "What?" Maybe if he repeated it enough times the entire conversation would march backward and out of this current slide into disaster.

Heero stared at the oven mitt rather than answer. After a moment he jerked the mitt off and set it back into the proper drawer there beside the oven. "You were down all week. Now you're up. That's what I meant by cycling."

"Don't talk crazy."

"I didn't say that." Heero spoke so quickly, so knee-jerk defensive, that he must have misunderstood Duo's scoffing off-hand remark. Anything but the C-word.

"Just let it go." The rush of pulse in his ears drowned out the words, but Duo assumed the shapes his mouth made and the flexes of his throat actually formed coherent sounds. Hopefully the resulting noises didn't seem so shaky. Not like how he felt, with the ground dropped out and him tumbling helplessly along.

"You can't keep going like this," said Heero. "Leaving it untreated." He sounded perfectly and unfairly calm again. Probably because he had that armchair psychology bullshit to regurgitate.

"Sure I _can_," said Duo. He aimed for lightweight and careless, not featherweight and freaked. "You mean to say I _shouldn't_."

Heero shook his head. "I mean what I say."

"Or do you say what you mean?"

"Duo."

Yeah, okay, he'd found the line and hop-scotched right over it. Duo managed to twist his face into a smile. "Just teasing you."

"I am serious." He certainly looked it, but when did Heero not look way too serious?

"Okay." Duo's mind churned frantically over several other responses, hoping to spin the straws he clutched at into gold. "Sure. I can tell. I mean, I know that. I get that you're serious. So, okay, so what if I'm done being a gloomy guts? That's a good thing. Yeah? Wouldn't you rather I not be all Poe'd out dark-and-stormy-night on you?"

"That's not the point."

"Yeah, it is. It is, Heero. You just said it, didn't you? I was down, now I'm not, problem fucking solved. I'm fine like this. I'm beyond fine. You've freaked me out more than anything, but even without that – hell, even with it – I'm _fine_ like this. I don't need anything else. I got this. We've been having a good time keeping house together, haven't we?"

Duo saw the hesitation flicker over Heero's face. He had to press the advantage while he could Duo brushed his fingers through the messy fall of Heero's bangs. "I like being here with you. No, scratch that. I _love_ being here with you. I love helping you with the stupid dishes and the laundry and all the chores on your little checklist. I love seeing your face every morning and every evening. I love being able to touch whenever I want – like this."

Duo spread his palm into the warmth of Heero's chest, aiming for his heart and likely missing. Heero looked down reflexively and then followed Duo's hand up to the line of his shoulder. Duo slipped close and cupped his hand around to the back of Heero's neck. They were close enough in height despite Heero being older. Duo had always been able to look right into his eyes like this. He could almost see his own reflection in the deep blue of Heero's eyes.

"Heero," he said. "Heero. Don't take this away from me. Don't make me be alone again. I can't stand it. You want to talk about what I can't do, it's be without you. I— Heero. I love you."

Duo tipped forward to kiss the unrelenting stone of Heero's lips. The frozen statue that he tried to hold did not move and did not pull away. Duo squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden sea of tears. He clung to Heero so as not to drown.

"Say something," he pleaded into the silence. "Heero, say something."

"The pizza has likely cooled enough for us to eat it," said Heero.

Duo tried to laugh, but the choking sound that emerged from his throat melted horribly into a sob. After several wracking seconds of him just standing there, clinging to Heero and crying, the resolute impossibility of Heero softened into tenderness. He wrapped both arms around Duo and tucked him close.

"Shh," soothed Heero. "Stop that. You're okay." He spoke directly into the curve of Duo's neck, where his lips whispered over the sensitive skin.

"Not okay," Duo managed to say. He hitched breath into and out of his lungs with the stuttering, desperate struggle of rising hysteria. He tried to calm down, but the tears just kept coming. Every time he emptied his mind the same wretched apparition burst back strong enough to set him off again.

Duo envisioned himself, back at the hospital, without Wufei or Quatre or even Trowa to keep him company, without Heero and left alone with his crazy for company. Alone and never knowing if Heero really had to work or maybe he just finally got tired of him, or met someone else, or maybe never loved him to begin with. Heero never said it, not once, not ever, to the point Duo feared to, so that the words became taboo. He'd broken the unwritten rules and gotten stark silence for an answer – the only answer he needed and definitely didn't want.

"Hush," said Heero. Christ, he sounded _nice_ about it. "Stop crying."

"Why?"

"I don't like it."

Duo scrubbed his cheek into Heero's shirt. "Why?"

Heero smoothed his hand over Duo's braid, as if he were something delicate and adored. Heero had always liked his hair. "You know why."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You just said it."

"Said what?" Against his will Duo stopped the waterworks. He wanted to keep it up, to be contrary just because it was in his nature, but the outflow of misery left him feeling drained. Keeping up the tears just for the sake of confounding Heero seemed unnecessarily cruel.

Heero stroked a hand over his hair again. "Let's eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry," said Duo.

"Eat anyway." Heero steered him toward the singular barstool. Once he insured Duo would sit and, more importantly stay put, Heero quickly pulled down a plate and found a knife with which to cut the pizza. He eyed the circular shape for longer than necessary before lining up the first cut. Normally that might make Duo frustrated or maybe amused.

Duo sniffled unattractively against the cloggy lump barring up his sinuses from all the messy crying. "I just want a small piece."

Heero set two identically-sized slices on plates. He put one in front of Duo and took the other for himself. Duo snuffed up more snot, the epitome of attractiveness, and Heero left the room. He turned holding a length of toilet tissue.

"Here," he said. He held out the peace offering.

"Thanks," said Duo. Rather than blow his nose as was intended, he set about shredding the paper to miniscule pieces. Not entirely intentional; he just felt skittish and scared and nervous and needed something to fuck with to keep his mind mostly occupied.

Heero ate quickly with single-minded determination. He cut two more slices, each as perfectly portioned as the first two, and downed them both in the time it took Duo to take three small bites and call it quits. His stomach tangled up hopelessly into a sea-sick knot. Packaging up the leftovers and cleaning the kitchen kept Heero busy enough, as Duo sat there and worried the tissue into dust.

When at last all the possible distractions were taken care of, Heero slowly turned around to face him. He leaned against the counter and studied Duo with a serious, thoughtful look.

"What?" said Duo. For a lack of anything better, really.

"I don't like it when you're mad at me. I don't like it when you're sad, either. I don't like it when I can't understand you, or when you say cruel things because you think it's fun."

The last one hit close to the heart, and Duo clenched all the fractional pieces of tissue into a sudden fist. "I don't do that. I'm not mean."

"No," said Heero. "You're not a mean person. I didn't say that. You just say things without thinking them through."

Duo huffed out a shaky breath. He probably deserved that one. Yelling at Heero wouldn't prove otherwise. "Okay. Everyone says stupid shit. Well, I guess you don't. I guess a single word doesn't fall out from your lips that your brain didn't hammer perfectly into shape first. But most people, normal people aren't like that, Heero. Hell, even harmless little Quatre says things without thinking."

Heero nodded. "That's true," he said.

"Yeah? So. Okay. Yeah. Not everything I do is because of the upsie-downsies. Some of it's just who I am, you know? That's me. I say stupid shit because my mouth goes faster than my brain. I get excited and paint rainbows on the wall because it sounds like a good idea at the time, sure. But I'm not going to hurl myself off a bridge just because everyone else is doing it, and I'm not an idiot."

Heero stared at him intently, like maybe there was a bridge nearby that Duo had ambitions to take a swan dive from and only the power of Heero's laser-beams eyes could prevent certain doom. He didn't seem inclined to say anything, so Duo spoke to fill the silence. "I can do this, Heero. No one's really ever given me a chance to just be me, you know?"

Heero shook his head. "I don't know."

Duo kicked a toe against the side of the bar. "Well. Maybe you should find out."

Heero said nothing. Duo was afraid to look. He found it safer to watch all the little miniscule bits of tissue drift toward the floor like snowflakes. If Heero noticed the purposeful mess, he didn't say anything. He came close. Duo watched him approach. Bits of paper fluttered harmlessly against Heero's bare toes.

A hand smoothed along his shoulders in an idle gesture of comfort. "Let's go to bed," said Heero.

Duo nodded. He abandoned the rest of the tissue destruction and dragged himself into the bedroom after Heero. All the circles he could spin meant nothing in the end. Rules were rules, set in stone and invulnerable to the flimsy weight of words.

* * *

The nickel was covered in hard, pale green crud, some kind of metallic rot, and took several runs through the machine before it stuck. Duo nestled the phone into the crook of his shoulder and carefully dialed the correct sequence of numbers with hands that dripped. He shivered again and tried to tuck himself further into the confines of the booth. The ringing had better stop soon, because he only had the one handful of change, and he sorely didn't want to go searching through the rain again for more.

"Hello."

Only one person he knew answered the phone like that, voice tight and terse and almost accusatory, like, _how dare you call me_. A bubble of laughter welled up inside him and burst out like a dam breaking, carrying with it a miserable, hitching sob. "Heero."

"… Duo?"

"Yeah."

"It's late."

"Is it?"

"Yes. It's after lights out. Why are you calling?"

"I'm cold. I'm hungry. I miss you. I don't know."

"You're hungry? Are they not feeding you?"

Sharp sounds that made Duo flinch until he realized that, for once, they weren't aimed at him. "Yeah. No. It's complicated. Heero, this sucks. I don't want to do this anymore. I ate something weird that must have had mold on it because I puked but at least the rain cleaned me up afterward but I'm all wet now, it's raining, I hate the rain." Faster and faster the words tumbled out of him, he was powerless to stop them.

"I don't understand."

"I said I can't do this anymore and it's raining and I'm hungry, like, really hungry, not just, wow, I'd like to eat something, like my stomach's clawing at my spine and Fred, that's the hobo whose alley I shared last night, he was nice enough I guess but he's got three missing teeth and there were these rats and Fred said that if I caught one he'd show me how to cook it but I didn't want to eat rat and I couldn't catch it anyway."

"Duo. You have to slow down. I can't understand you. "

"Oh. Oh, no. You're going to get mad. I know you're going to get m-mad. Ugh, I have all this rain dripping out of my hair. It's so thoroughly s-soaked, and I don't even have a comb or anything. I guess that doesn't really m-matter. Shit. Shit, now I'm sh-shivering or m-maybe that's from the crying I can't really tell, you know?"

"Duo, are you outside?"

"Yeah. Well, no. I'm inside a phone booth. Heero, it's raining."

"I know that," said Heero. His voice was soft and gentle over the telephone line. "Why are you outside?"

"The fire exit in the kitchen was unlocked. We'd had cherry pie for d-dessert, and I thought maybe there was leftovers. Did you know it's my birthday? It was, the other day. When we had the pie. That's why I wanted another slice, 'cause it's like b-birthday cake that way. It was pretty good p-pie. And then m-maybe I could find some whipped cream to go with it. You know the kind they sell in cans, like when—"

"Duo. Duo, listen to me. Where are you?"

Across the street from the payphone, a cheap motel loomed up out of the dark oblivion. Rain pattered and streaked the glass as a sudden gust tried to knock the booth over. Behind him a half-broken neon sign advertised Golden Wok Chinese, but the restaurant looked closed. A clap of thunder sank into Duo's skin and made him flinch. A few seconds later, a wild streak of lightning burst through the sky and lit up the empty street. A lone city bus turned the corner and slashed the night with its headlights. Its windshield wipers went flick, flick, against the sheets of rain.

"I don't know. Heero. I don't know. My stomach hurts. I'm c-cold. I'm wet. I hate this. I don't want to do this anymore."

"You don't have to," said Heero. "I'll come find you."

"But it's raining. You'll g-get all wet." Duo turned within the confines of the phonebook. His reflection flashed as lightning across the panes of glass. His reflection, a shadow with a pale, heart-shaped face framed with bedraggled and wet bangs, as endearing and pathetic as a drowned cat. Movement rippled over the visage, the silent flapping of wings as the dark lines of a bird took flight.

Duo turned again and felt the rays of summer sun prickly hot against the bare skin of his arms and face. A wide meadow of tall grass scorched by heat stretched before him. The rush of rain melted into the cacophonous song of grasshoppers and cicadas and the sketch-light wings of the bird above.

He stood on the edge of the roof and waved down at the boy standing below in the shadow of the warehouse. An upturned face with wide blue eyes met his gaze squarely. Vibration patterned meaning into the hollow of his throat as Duo's mouth open and closed. He made the physical motions of speech, but the sounds that emerged were lost to memory. They whipped away in the wind, so that only the grasshoppers and cicadas and the charcoal bird above could hear.

The endless sea of grass, an ocean of softly waving fronds, beckoning him. Heero gave a silent, frantic reply, white beneath the tan of his face. The wind fluttered and flapped, snagging Duo's braid and unfurling the chestnut strands so they waved like a banner. The charcoal bird's song trilled upward into encouragement as it circled.

Duo turned and felt the firm edge of a mattress beneath him. His feet swung idly into the bland tan carpet. They made a soft sound, a shuck-shuck-slide sort of noise which mesmerized his dull and easy attention. Across the small space sat a rigid metal desk with a reading lamp in split pea soup green. Beside him on the bed sat a battered black duffle bag containing all his worldly possessions. He stuck a hand into the cavernous depth and pulled free his well-worn copy of Poe, each frayed edge of the binding and dog-eared page as familiar to him as his own skin.

When he opened the pages, however, the sentences blurred together into nonsense. Notations scrawled in what he recognized as his own handwriting refused to form actual words, the series of loops and lines nothing so much as impossible. The sketched bird alighted on the corner of the book, and Duo reached to stroke the delicate hand-drawn wisps of plumage.

The bird startled into flight. Duo's gaze followed the motion across the tiny room and to the open doorway. Heero stood there. The bird dove and disappeared into the stack of books clutched to Heero's chest.

"So it's true," Heero said. "You're back." Wonderment filled the warm notes of his voice. The rare smile he gave belonged to memory.

Duo's head bobbed in hushed reply.

Heero entered the room. "Here. I got this for you." He held out a new sketchbook, and it was even the brand and type that Duo preferred. He'd lost his old one. _They_ had it now.

Duo took the sketchbook and smoothed a hand over the cover. It felt soft. Each paper fiber whispered to him. He had to be quiet so as to hear their secrets, but the nonsense came like the silence of the night.

Heero spoke again, but the words did not match the motion of his face. Past and present scrambled together, different audio tracks to the same movie skipping through the frames. _You weren't yourself. You were different. _

Duo closed his eyes and opened them. Parchment pale walls surrounded him. They were bulbous and bulgy and padded for his safety. A single flimsy and harmless mattress kept him company. The side of his face pressed to the gritty fabric.

Ache and sorrow burned at his throat. He open and closed eyes that were stung and swollen and bruised, abused and drained like only an explosion of sobbing could cause. His hands refused to obey simple commands; they'd gone as numb and useless the rest of him. Duo managed to flop on to his back. The injection site flared and throbbed and faded.

Bone-deep certainty born of an unknown conviction seeped into him like poison, withering each tendril of hope. He would live an eternity with these walls. He would forever be alone and vaguely cold with the unnecessary strength of central air, always a little hungry and discontent with the meals, always a little bored and longing to feel the warm of sun or the bite of true cold. The greasy feel of his hair would never cease because the hot water always ran out too soon, and all the little pleasures like doing the dishes in tandem or curling deeper into the covers on a lazy Sunday afternoon, these would fade to mere memory and then away, intangible and unreal as moonlight. Away to where dreams perished and songs lost their melody and the charcoal bird with sketched wings never got up from the snow.

Duo sucked in a rush of panicked breath, and then another. The slatted pattern of yellow streetlight bled through the blinds and cast shadows across the ceiling. Duo wiped a shaking hand over his face and smeared clean a mixture of cold sweat and hot tears. Beside him in the narrow bed, Heero stirred but did not wake.

_A_ _nightmare_. Duo carefully sat up and drew his knees close to his chest. Just a horrible dream full of everything he wanted to forget. He gulped and swallowed and succeeded in not crying with the overwhelming rush of relief at being awake. All the waterworks earlier had the pipes ready to be loosened at any moment. Lingering misery seeped a chill into his flesh, and Duo set a careful hand against the blistering warmth of Heero's chest.

With excruciating care, so as not to wake Heero, Duo weaseled his way free of the bed. Each tip-toe across the carpet seemed as loud to him as shouting, but still Heero did not wake. Duo turned the bedroom door knob a fraction of an inch, waited, and then turned it another inch further.

More light spilled in from the far window of the living room. The shadowy outline of Duo's rainbow loomed up from the dim. Duo waited for his eyes to adjust further, until he discern the finer details. Like the empty sofa.

No small, curled lump of sleeping Quatre lay where he expected. Duo headed for the kitchen with bolder step, less concerned now with the noise. He frowned at the digital clock on the face of the microwave; past two in the morning, so if Cinderella hoped to make it back from the ball in time… Well. He was with Trowa. No cause for concern there.

Duo ran cold water into the sink and then splashed handfuls of it over his face until the gritty feel of the nightmare washed clean. He drank straight from the faucet rather than bother getting a glass. He leaned over the sink for a long moment, head full of all the images and memories stirred up by the nightmare.

At last Duo turned away and went to where the pastel crayons lay abandoned beneath the window. He grabbed a handful and then tossed them back down again. The closed second bedroom door beckoned him closer, careful and quiet. He pressed an ear to the wood and listened but heard only the slow beat of his own pulse. Duo tried the knob, which slid easily as he turned his wrist. The door creaked, just the tiniest amount, as he nudged it ajar.

_Seriously?_ He pushed the door open the rest of the way. A disorderly tangle of blankets heaped across the bed, as empty and neglected as the sofa. Duo retreated from the room and made quick strides over to the living room window. Peering down at the street and sidewalk below, he searched for any sign that Zechs waited outside, too drunk or timid or callous or ring the buzzer and be let upstairs.

"Well, fuck," he whispered. The glass fogged with his breath in response.

Duo went back into the bedroom, technically his even though he never used it, and ransacked the desk until he found a sketchbook. His favorite brand, with the whisper-soft covers and rich paper good enough for even his watercolors. He pulled open the desk drawer and pawed through the candy bars and crumpled pages until he found a few charcoal pencils. A broad sweep of his hand cleared the desk surface, items tumbling to the carpet with easy disregard. He clicked on the desk lamp, such a darling color of green, to have enough light to see his work.

Dark lines appeared on the paper with each stroke of his hand. He started with a phone booth in the rain and just the outline of a boy within. He scribbled darkness and smeared his hands black with effort. He had be quicker, had to draw faster, before he forgot everything. A rooftop appeared with hurried, inelegant dashes surrounding it to suggest the never-ending swath of empty field. His marks became precise only when throwing the detail work into the upturned face far below. Duo tore the finished pages free and let them fall on top of the rest of the clutter.

The open doorway appeared with Heero there to fill it, his schoolbooks held close to his chest. A tiny flick of Duo's wrist created the line of his mouth, twitched into that rare precious smile. He understood now what that smile meant. _You're back_, which in Heero's mind meant that he was cured. They'd sneak out of bed after lights out and meet on the school roof, with the canopy of stars above as Duo would spin words into dreams and hopes and promises – as if nothing had ever happened, if nothing had changed, if the lows and the highs had been surgically removed like a busted appendix.

One more, and it was the hardest. His finger trembled through the fresh marks to smudge them, soften them, twist the walls to uneven and claustrophobic angles. He took creative license to unbind the braid and send the long waterfall of hair tumbling over the lumps of the mattress. In memory that wasn't true, but he liked the effect and went with it for the drawing. Duo brought his eyes closer to the paper, wanting to get just the right look in the small dotted eyes—

The connecting door to the bathroom burst open, light and shadow falling into the room and startling Duo up from the page. Heero stood in just his boxers, pupils massive in the dark and framed by such a look of anxious relief that Duo's fingers itched to capture it on paper. Duo dropped the pencil and shook the cramp out from his hand.

Heero rushed the desk and hauled Duo up from the chair. His fingers dug into Duo's arms, tight enough to hurt. For a second Duo feared him angry, but Heero only seemed half-asleep and anxious. "You were gone," he said. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I just went to get a drink of water."

"I thought you'd left," said Heero. The hug bordered on suffocating, but Duo didn't mind.

"I didn't go anywhere. I'm right here. Okay?"

Heero edged away just enough to search over Duo's face with his sharp focus, and then he slowly looked the empty bed, the strewn disaster below the desk, and the recent sketches lying half-forgotten on top of it all. "What is this?"

"Uh," said Duo. The lingering spell of the dream lay shattered, and now he keenly felt the absurdity of the sudden sketchapalooza. "Nothing?"

The final drawing lay trapped with the metal coils of the sketchbook. "What is this?" repeated Heero.

"So seriously nothing. Hey. Let's go back to bed. You've got work in the morning, right? Sorry to wake you."

Heero kept one hand on Duo's arm as he bent to collect the rest of the drawings. "Is this me?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"This is the school." Heero spread the three finished drawings over the surface of the desk. "I recognize this one." He pointed to the rooftop with its strange perspective and murky background and frowned at the paper in bewildered accusation.

"I was just, whatever. Don't look, please. Come on, Heero." Duo reached for the drawings.

Heero fended him off easily enough. "Did you do these just now?"

"Yeah. Midnight inspiration, I guess. It was dumb of me. Whatever. Forget it."

Like a bloodhound on the trail, Heero ignored him to persist over the stupid drawings. He tapped the worst of the bunch, the frenetic spiral of line and smear that depicted a boy strung out in a pool of hair with walls all around. "Is this you?"

"They're all me. Christ on toast, Heero. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I had this fucked-up nightmare and then decided to draw it out – Look, I don't know. Chalk it up to another 'seemed like a good idea at the time' thing and let it go. Sorry I woke you up. Let's just go back to bed. I'll burn these stupid things in the morning and you won't have to look at them anymore, okay?"

Heero slid the pages into a different order. "This is me at school. Here we are that summer. This is from the night you called me… but what's this one? Did this happen?"

"Yes. No. Argh, Heero, stop it." Duo threw himself over the drawings to hide them. "Just leave it alone. I swear to God, I'm fine. It isn't a big deal. You're not going to Magic Eye find a suicide note or treasure map or any stupid psychobabble meaning out of this, okay? I couldn't sleep, I drew some stuff I dreamed about, end of story. Let's please just forget this ever happened."

The tentative brush of Heero's fingertips pulled aside a length of Duo's hair. Heartbeats ticked by in which Duo cowered over the desk like smothering a grenade, and Heero just petted his hair and said nothing. Cautiously Duo lifted himself enough to gather up the drawings rather than squash them. He collected them all back into the sketchbook and closed it up tight; he even flipped the book over for good measure.

"Come to bed," said Duo. He caught Heero's hand out from his hair and held it. The gentlest of tugs got Heero moving, although he still didn't say anything. Duo turned off the lamp and bathroom light both on the way to the bed.

Duo slid first between the covers and pulled Heero in after him. The sheets felt cool against his skin, the bedding vanished of body heat. Heero still felt warm; he was like a furnace that way. When it snowed and they still snuck up to the roof together, Heero had opened his coat and tucked Duo inside the inferno. His hands traced heat down the front of Duo's pants, whereas Duo was pretty sure he returned the favor with icicle fingers. Heero never complained.

They tangled around each other in the narrow bed. Heero's breath whispered over his forehead. His lips traced a caress through Duo's bangs. "I'm sorry," he said.

Duo may have been less surprised had space aliens descended through the window and lifted the bed up into the heavens. Heero did not apologize, at least not unless under duress or subjected to the backlash of authority. He certainly did not apologize to Duo, not ever, not really, and Duo's heart began a panicked effort to burst free of his chest. What could Heero be planning to do that was so terrible he actually said _I'm sorry_ first?

Duo edged away as best he could given the limited space. "What for?"

"I don't know," said Heero.

"What are you going to do? What did you do? Why are you sorry?"

Heero's hand, rough with calluses but tender all the same, ran along the length of Duo's arm. "I hurt you."

"What? When? Just now?" Duo contorted around to check his flesh for bruises. "Pretty sure it's okay. You didn't mean to. You're pretty damn strong for such a scrawny guy."

"No. Your drawings. They were about me."

"Oh," said Duo. The little sound was all he could manage. He rolled to face the wall and scooted almost into the edge of the bed. "I don't want to talk about it. Forget you saw them. I forgive you, or whatever. Just go to sleep."

The mattress creaked with the shifting weight as Heero wrapped himself around Duo's back. He nuzzled aside the curtain of loose hair to press a gentle kiss into the soft skin of Duo's neck. "When I woke and thought you were gone, I realized something."

Duo hunched his shoulders. "Yeah?"

"You can stay."

"I can?" Duo turned toward him.

Heero smiled. "You should."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! I'll try to be quick on the next update.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	87. Complications

LSC / 08-06-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Seven: Complications)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 87

**Complications**

* * *

Husky twilight bled across the sky with the fading light, and Quatre suppressed a shiver despite his jacket being zipped all the way. Trowa must have felt it anyway, and the boy ran a hand over his arm. "Cold?" he asked.

"A little," said Quatre.

Trowa pulled him closer in response, even though Quatre already lay curled mostly on top of Trowa. A leaf stuck to his sleeve and he waved his arm around in a squiggly circle until it broke free and fluttered back to the ground. Parked not far away from them was the car, and Quatre couldn't help but double-check its position. Not that he seriously thought someone would be able to sneak up on them; they'd hear the car motor or see the headlights curl around the exit ramp, and Trowa had assured him the property was well and truly abandoned. All the same, Quatre threw a quick glance, anxious around. He could see Sandy's face pressed against the windshield from where the bear lay across the dash of the car.

"We can head back," said Trowa. "If you want." He spoke almost lazily and punctuated the slow syllables by dragging his hand up and down Quatre's arm in idle leisure. Since leaving the others, Trowa had said typically little and near to nothing even though they were alone. He'd driven straight out on the highway to this remote location, a rundown industrial site with a single drooping security light over the dismal parking lot, and settled down with Quatre in the relatively softer grass at the edge of the lot to simple be quiet and tranquil.

The entire situation vaguely confused Quatre, but he wouldn't be the one to break to hushed spell of simply being held by Trowa and hearing the steady, warm beat of his heart. He shook his head. "It's fine."

Trowa nodded. Stretched out on his back on the ground was he was, the obscuring length of his bangs fell to one side of his forehead and left both of his bright green eyes exposed for Quatre to wonder over. Trowa combed his fingers through the pale strands of Quatre's hair. He squinted as the delicate threads tickled across his eyelids. "It's getting long," said Trowa. "Kind of shaggy in the back and over your ears."

Quatre felt heat on his face as he hastily smoothed his hair flat, almost right on top of Trowa's attempts to muss it. "I know. I guess I'll have to get it cut."

"I didn't say I disliked it," said Trowa. "It looks cute when I can get it to stick up like this."

Quatre bit back a shy smile. He sat up a little more, one arm propped up across Trowa's chest. "Stop that."

Trowa dug both hands into his hair and gave it a vigorous shaking, thoroughly tousling Quatre's hair until he laughed and pleaded with Trowa to stop. Trowa did so, but at the expense of switching his torment to an onslaught of gentle kissing. Quatre melted into him, boneless and happy. He nuzzled into the hollow of Trowa's neck and felt his own warm breath pool against the bare skin.

"I guess I do have to head home eventually," said Trowa, with evident reluctance. "Will you stay the night?"

"What about Catherine?"

Trowa's chest rose in fell in an awkward shrug. "She likes you. She asks about you."

"Oh," said Quatre.

"Which is fine," Trowa hastened to say. "It's fine. If you don't want to, that's okay."

"No, no. I'd like to. I didn't, that is, um." Quatre buried his face into Trowa's shoulder. His fingers curled into the fabric of the Trowa's jacket.

"It's whatever you want to do," said Trowa gently. "I can drive you back over to Duo's instead. I know you were upset about Catherine. That's what all this was about, right?"

"Um," said Quatre. He hunched his shoulders further against Trowa.

Trowa rose into a sitting position and pulled Quatre up along with him. "I understand now. I know why you were upset. It's okay. I can fix it."

"Fix what?" asked Quatre. He wasn't sure he trusted the excitable tone of Trowa's voice.

"We don't have to go back to Catherine's apartment. We can go somewhere else." Trowa fumbled to take both of Quatre's hands in his own. He spoke almost over himself, clipping each word short and with unusual disregard for clarity. With odd self-assuredness considering his typical silence, Trowa rarely became flustered when he did speak. He rushed on to say, "Quatre, I have something, something great. Well. I don't know about great, but, for you. For us. Quatre, you won't have to worry anymore. You don't have to worry."

"Trowa," he said slowly. "I don't understand."

"I know." Trowa released his hand long enough to sketch a gesture of frustration. "It's hard to explain, but I can take care of everything now. I have – a lot of money. I'm going to give most of it to Catherine, so she can go back to school, but the rest we can use. Like I talked about before, we can live on our own. You won't have to worry about Catherine this way, because she'll be the one leaving. It'll be her idea, going back to school – I'll give her the money, I want to do that anyway. We can stay in the apartment together, and she can always visit during semester breaks. It's perfect."

Quatre had never heard Trowa say this much, and the whirlwind of words came to him mostly as nonsense. He felt a deep frown pulling down the line of his brow. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying it'll be Catherine's choice to leave, so you won't have to worry it's your fault or anything. You can just move in with me, and that way she won't worry about leaving me alone either. You'll be with me. She likes you, so, it'll be okay."

Trowa seemed so excited that Quatre nearly drowned in helpless guilt. Knots tied and tangled around the sudden fearful lump in his gut. "Oh," he said. "But... I don't understand. Where did you get the money?"

A shadow crossed Trowa's face. "It doesn't matter. The money belongs to Catherine anyway. I didn't want it at first, but then I realized what it could mean for us."

"What do you mean it's hers? Trowa, this doesn't make any sense."

"It's an inheritance," said Trowa. "Now that I'm eighteen. I didn't know, before, or I would have told you. Quatre, it's a lot of money. But don't worry about that. I'm going to give most of it to Catherine anyway, even if..." Trowa's voice drifted into unspoken misery.

Cold waves of uncertainty lapped higher and higher in Quatre's chest. He swallowed bitterness. "Oh."

Trowa squeezed his hands. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Quatre shook his head, utterly tongue-tied.

In small, soothing circles, Trowa massaged gentle pressure over the delicate ridges of Quatre's knuckles. "If you don't want to live with me, that's okay," he said, in a voice gone dry and husky like autumn leaves. "You don't have to. I don't... I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"No," said Quatre. "No, that's not it. It's not like that."

"If Catherine decides to stay, or you don't want to – Whatever happens, I can still fix this. I can rent you an apartment somewhere Near Duo, if you want. You'll be safe there. You won't have to worry about getting caught anymore. Quatre, I just want to fix this. I want to protect you."

Quatre snatched desperately for control and lost. His eyes rapidly filled with tears and began to overflow. Mortified by the silent outburst, Quatre jerked his hands free of Trowa's and buried his face.

"Hey." Trowa wrapped him into a tight hug. "Hey, it's okay. Quatre? It's okay."

"No." He choked in regret.

"Here, calm down. It's okay." Trowa rubbed a hand over Quatre's back. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

Quatre shook his head. "I, I..." An explanation danced over his nerves and refused to go further.

"God, Quatre. I'm sorry. You don't have to give me any kind of answer now. I'll drive you back to Duo's, okay? Take your time."

A deep breath shuddered in and out of his chest. Quatre struggled and succeeded in halting the plummeting sobs. A tremor rattled over him, and Trowa's arms tightened. "Okay," said Quatre. "I'm sorry. Sorry, Trowa."

"Stop," said Trowa, with heartbreaking kindness. "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have thrown all that at you."

"No, I just-" Quatre's voice caught.

"Okay," said Trowa. "It's okay."

Quatre nodded. "Okay. You're right, Trowa. Rashid can still help. I think that's okay."

Trowa's hands stilled. "Who is Rashid?"

"Oh," said Quatre. It squeaked out of him.

Silence stretched. At last Trowa spoke again. "Who is Rashid?"

"He, um. He works for my father. I've known Rashid forever."

"Your father," repeated Trowa. The flat quality of his tone made Quatre wince.

Quatre nodded. "I, um. I called Rashid. Yesterday."

Trowa took a firm but gentle hold of Quatre's shoulders and pushed him back just slightly, just enough to stare at him. "You what?"

The desperate knot that Quatre's fingers formed felt empty without plush fur to grip. "Please don't be mad," he said. It sounded impossibly small.

"No," said Trowa swiftly. A stricken look came and went from his face. "No, of course. I'm not mad. What did you talk about?"

"Just... nothing. Um. I – I, that is, um. I wanted to, I want to – fix this, too, so, I..." Mercifully the nervous stammering faded into fearful silence.

Trowa traced a light, affectionate line of touch over Quatre's arms and up his neck and into his hair. Soft enough that it hurt. "You can tell me," Trowa said. "I won't be mad."

"Oh," breathed Quatre. "It's not – I didn't. Um, so, I... I can't just, you know, hide forever. I'm not like Duo or, or, or like Zechs, I guess. I have a f-family. I'm just, I'm only sixteen. What am I supposed to do? Wait two years? And even then, I-" Quatre swallowed in trembling uneasiness at his own bold speech.

"I understand," said Trowa. "Do you miss them?"

"Who?"

"Your family."

"Oh," said Quatre. "That's not... Oh." He thought of his father and his sisters and fell silent.

"It's whatever you want to do," said Trowa. "I've done a lot of thinking. I've been doing a lot of thinking, ever since you showed up in the back lot of the diner. You are so precious to me. I'd do anything for you. You know that. Quatre, you have to know that."

A sharp pang originated somewhere under his heart and spread out into a cold, crackling snap of tension. Quatre dug his teeth viciously into the soft skin of his lower lip. After a moment he found the stability to continue. "I don't have to be in … a hospital," Quatre said. "I'm not like Duo or Wufei. I'm... I'm like you."

Trowa's eyebrows dipped with heavy confusion. "Me?"

"Yeah. I mean, right? Oh, I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm not making any sense."

"Well," said Trowa. "That's okay. You don't have to explain now." He pushed Quatre's bangs aside and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "It's late. We should go."

Trowa got to his feet and brushed grass and leaves and all matter of accumulated nature shedding from his clothes. He offered a hand down to help Quatre up as well, and then they started for the car. Eagerly Quatre plucked Sandy from the dash of the car and held the bear tight, right up under his chin. The little hard plastic nub of the teddy bear's nose bobbed against Quatre's throat as he swallowed.

Watching the blur of highway and exit signs from the window, Quatre realized that Trowa was tracking them west across the outskirts of the city. "Oh," said Quatre. "I thought, um."

Trowa twitched a look at him. "My place?"

"Is that okay?"

Trowa smiled. "Of course."

A flutter of happiness beat its way free from around all the thorny anxiety. Quatre bit a smile into Sandy's ear. The words he needed to find earlier suddenly sprang from his mouth like a gunshot. "I'm going to make a deal with my father. So I won't have to go back. I was only there in the first place because of, um, because – well, that's what I was trying to say. Earlier, about it being different for me."

Trowa said nothing. Quatre feared him angry, despite the boy's assurances he wouldn't be mad, and closed his teeth over Sandy's fur until his jaw hurt. At last Trowa spoke, with painstaking slowness, "What kind of deal?"

"I don't know," Quatre lied. "It doesn't matter. I didn't call him... I called Rashid. He'll help me. I've known Rashid forever."

"Quatre..." Trowa squeezed an uncountable amount of concern into a short sigh. "I don't know. I wish you'd talked to me about this first. It seems like a dangerous idea."

Mulish stubbornness infused Quatre with a rebellious bravery. "It'll be fine," he said, even though part of him wholeheartedly agreed with Trowa.

"You didn't tell him where you were, did you?"

"No," said Quatre. He bit back adding something petty like I'm not stupid.

"Okay," said Trowa. "Good."

They didn't have much more to say to each other for the rest of the drive. Quatre didn't exactly sulk, and Trowa didn't exactly fret, but the easy, giddy companionship of before lay forgotten. Trowa took his hand just outside Catherine's apartment and gave it a little squeeze, offering one of those silent not-apologies that he was so good at. Quatre nudged his forehead into Trowa's shoulder in response.

Catherine came out from the hallway when they entered the apartment. She wore a bath towel swathed around her head like a turban and simple lounge wear. The end of her toothbrush jutted from one cheek, interfering with her attempt at a pleased smile at the sight of them. She waved without saying anything and disappeared back into the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth.

Trowa motioned toward his bedroom before following after his sister. From the drifting sounds of Catherine's voice in between rinsing and spitting, she seemed to be giving permission for Quatre to stay the night. Afterward Trowa joined him in the bedroom with the spare sheets for the trundle, but Catherine appeared suddenly in the doorway as Quatre was helping Trowa get the bedding arranged.

"Maybe I should stay in here with Trowa, and you can take my bed," said Catherine. She'd taken off the towel, exposing the soft, damp curls of her hair, and wore it slung around her neck instead. "You know?"

Any hotter and the blush that sprung to Quatre's cheeks could have engulfed his face in fire. Substantially calmer was Trowa's reaction; he just rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh, come on," said Catherine. She smiled, exposing the suggestion as a joke. "I have to keep up the semblance of propriety, at least. Well. I'm going to watch a bit of T.V. before bed. Trowa, would you mind dropping me off at work in the morning? It's just the brunch shift, so it won't be too early. Is that all right?"

Trowa nodded to everything and made a shooing motion with his hands. Catherine retreated into the living room and presently they heard the soft sound of her flipping through the channels. Trowa crossed to the door and eased it closed.

"Leave the door open!" called Catherine.

Quatre stifled a smile at the exasperated look on Trowa's face.

"Just kidding!"

Trowa shut the door with a bit more force with necessary. He apologized with a shrug, but Quatre just shook his head and tried not to laugh. "She's teasing you," he whispered.

Trowa puffed air, not quite a sigh, but his bangs ruffled all the same with the silent outburst. Quatre did laugh then, in a shaky sort of way, because he didn't wish to frustrate Trowa by seeming like he was also making fun of him. But he did have to admit was funny and, more importantly, showed that Catherine wasn't harboring any lingering anger over having them found them out the other week.

By the answering smile on Trowa's face, he felt similar. Trowa joined him on the bed and then, suddenly, Quatre forgot all about everything else but the two of them.

* * *

In the morning Catherine ambushed him. She waited until Trowa was in the shower, and Quatre preoccupied with spreading the precise right quantity of butter over his toast, before making her move. He barely registered her joining in the kitchen. She did nothing more than pour herself a glass of milk and lean against the counter, her presence noted and hardly worth attention. Until she spoke, of course, and Quatre nearly leaped right out of his skin.

"I want to thank you."

As a means of defense, Quatre shoved the entirety of the toast into his mouth.

She continued as if this were a normal response to gratitude. "I suppose that's a strange thing to say. Thanking you for dating my brother. I make it sound like a charity case."

"Mhmnf?" said Quatre.

"No, of course not. At least, I hope that's the case. I mean, I can see that you like each other." A blush crept into her cheeks. "We're getting off track. I just wanted to say that I'm glad to see Trowa's happy. That you make him happy. That really means a lot to me. I wouldn't do anything to risk taking that away from him. Oh, dear. Now I sound like I'm threatening you not to break up with him."

Quatre swallowed. "No. I wouldn't. Um. I'm sorry?"

Catherine waved aside the apology. "Trowa's different since you started showing up – a good kind of different, definitely. He's always been... Even when we were kids, it took a lot to get him out of his shell. Ever since his mother passed away he just hasn't been the same. He'd long stopped talking already, of course. I don't know if you know that about Trowa's condition. The doctors never found anything wrong with his throat or anything like that. He could talk, he just doesn't. I don't even know why, or really when it started. Can you believe that? He stopped talking, and none of us even noticed. Not at first. Not for a while. He'd always been so quiet. His mother always said he was shy, but, I don't know. _You_ seem shy. He just seemed... empty. I don't know. I was a stupid little girl. By the time I realized something was wrong it was too late."

Catherine stared into the opaque surface of the milk in her glass. "When Trowa took the car last week, to get you for... whatever reason. I was upset, sure. I'd asked you once before, if you knew why Trowa never came back to school. You said you'd heard rumors. Well. I didn't want to press it at the time, it seemed rude, but Trowa did try to kill himself. I don't know what rumors you heard, but that's the truth of it."

"Oh," said Quatre. In the resulting silence between them, he could hear the faint and distant sound of the shower spray. Catherine seemed to be listening as well, or maybe waiting for Quatre to say something more than a ridiculous non-answer. "Um, y-yeah. I knew that. I mean, um, on his arms. So. I know."

Catherine nodded. "It was my fault. I should never have left him alone. I just didn't think... I don't know; is it horrible of me to say I didn't think he was serious? After his mother died, and he was doing so poorly in school and everything, the guidance counselor recommended therapy, and I was his guardian at that point so I agreed. Whatever the stuff was they gave him, he took too much of it, so, my God. I should have known better. I never should have just left him alone like that. It wasn't like it was the first time; I just didn't want to believe he'd _do_ anything. But I can't beat myself up forever over it, I know that. I'm not trying to scare you, either. Maybe it's different this time. He seems to be doing a lot better. Thanks to you."

"Um," said Quatre. He didn't know what else to say.

Catherine persisted, racing to finish whatever it was she had on her mind. "If you ever need anything, let me know. Consider my home yours, okay? Even if Trowa and I aren't here and you just need a place to go. It's okay with me."

She was assuming the worst about him again, something close to the truth but wasn't, and it felt like cheating. Quatre nearly blurted out his secret right then and there. He actually choked on the words, concealing the hesitation with a throat-clearing cough.

Across the quiet of the apartment, the shower shut off and signaled the merciful end to their conversation. Catherine finished her milk and rinsed the glass in the sink. "Well," she said. "Thanks for listening to me."

"No, um." Quatre knotted his fingers together. "Thank you. I, ah. I really appreciate you being so nice to me. And I, um, I really like being here."

Catherine smiled, in the kindly big-sister way that sent a powerful wave of homesickness through Quatre. "You're a good kid," she said.

Something like a wildfire erupted over Quatre's face. He dropped his eyes to the floor and mumbled, "I'mgonnacheckonTrowa," or an equally nonsensical excuse before fleeing. Quatre went immediately into Trowa's room and found it empty; he was still in the bathroom getting ready for the day.

With Catherine's words still fresh in his mind, Quatre's eye caught on the framed photos across Trowa's dresser. He picked up the wedding portrait and peered critically at the four people in the photograph. He carefully set the frame back into place and looked at some of the others without picking them up. Quatre recognized Trowa and Catherine in front of a wood and wire hutch, each holding a rabbit and smiling for the camera. Or, rather, Catherine smiled and Trowa merely stared out at the camera, his young face solemn and silent and – empty. Quatre could see that, now that he was looking for it.

One of the other pictures showed part of Catherine's arm off to the side which, combined with the severe angle of the shot, indicated she'd taken it herself at arm's length. Her other arm trapped Trowa against her. They were both older now, closer to their current ages. She smiled, same as always, and Trowa wasn't even looking at the camera. His eyes tracked somewhere to the side, maybe looking at something off camera, maybe not. Most striking to Quatre, however, was the fact that the unscarred length of Trowa's forearm lay visible in the shot. That helped him place the chronology.

Quatre picked up a photo from the back of the set. The bronze-metal frame felt heavy in his hand. It was a candid shot, or at least that was the intention, of a woman on the beach. Trowa's mother smiled, with something like a movie star's quality of spontaneity, poised in the precise moment she noticed the camera. Quatre sought and found the resemblance between the Trowa and his mother; the shape of her eyes, the line of her nose, the color of her hair, those things matched. Something else didn't. Something beyond the physical. Quatre traced a finger over the woman in the photograph and wondered.

The bathroom door opened and shut, startling Quatre. The picture fumbled out his hands and into the carpet. Quatre dove to catch it and banged his head into the dresser in the process. Pain stung at his eyes and throbbed out from where his forehead connected with the metal loops of the drawer handles.

Trowa took the photograph from him.

"I'm sorry," said Quatre. "I was just looking at it. I'm sorry."

Trowa shrugged and set the frame on to the dresser with the rest.

"Hey, knock-knock," said Catherine. "Don't make me late." She poked her head around the door. "What are you doing? Trowa, are you ready?"

Trowa flipped the picture frame face-down into the top of the dresser and turned away without looking at Quatre. He motioned Catherine out from the room, which gave Quatre time to snag Sandy and follow them out the door. Guilt oozed into his chest like venom. He knew Trowa did not like the pictures and especially did not like Quatre looking at them. Curiosity and cats and, oh, Duo would have something clever to say.

Catherine fiddled with the radio the entire way to the diner, discontent with the quality of her car's speakers. "This dumb old thing," she said. "Maybe I should get a new car and let you have this one for Christmas. Pretend to be surprised when I stick a big red bow on the roof, okay, Trowa?"

They pulled into the back lot of the restaurant to let Catherine out. "Are you two hanging out today, or is Trowa taking you back home?" she asked.

Trowa glanced at him. Quatre shrugged and tried to look either hopeful or inviting. His face probably stuck somewhere in the middle and left him feeling silly. It made the corner of Trowa's mouth twitch somewhat into a smile.

"Well," said Catherine. "I'll see if Sara wants to grab dinner together or something. Let me know if you end up doing anything else, okay? My shift ends at five."

"Okay," said Quatre. He exchanged waves with Catherine as Trowa diligently checked all his blind spots before putting the car in reverse to leave.

Quatre waited until they were a few blocks out from the diner before speaking. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "Hey, Trowa?"

Trowa shot him a bewildered look. "I'm not mad."

"Oh."

Trowa hunched his shoulders. "I overreacted last time, if that's what you're thinking about."

"Oh," said Quatre. "Okay. Um. Okay."

"I don't know why Catherine even bothered. I should move them into her room or something."

Quatre seized on the opening. "Why?"

"Why what?" said Trowa.

_Why don't you like your mom_ spasmed and lay still within the convulsive swallow of his throat. _What did she do to you _also twitched into horrible wordless demise, with the added bonus that Quatre stammered only a few halting syllables of nonsense first. "Why did you stop talking?" blurted out of him in an uncontrolled burst of sound.

Trowa froze. Quatre froze. The car rolled forward through a yellow light. It prompted a burst of frantic babbling from Quatre, hasty apologies and denial in the same breath. "Trowa, don't answer that, I'm sorry, it's not important, I'm sorry."

Trowa reached across and patted his shoulder, hushing him as effectively as yelling would have. "What did Catherine say to you?" he asked.

"What? I don't know. Nothing."

Trowa leveled a look at him. "You just spontaneously came up with that?"

"No," admitted Quatre. "Okay. She talked to me in the kitchen before we left."

"What did she say?"

"Um." Quatre poked Sandy in the eye. The bear did not complain, his stitched face peaceful and calm as Quatre mauled at him. "Just some stuff. Nothing … bad."

"All right," said Trowa. He sighed. "Someday it'll be different, I guess. Just not today. Okay?"

"Okay." Quatre immediately agreed. He would have equally agreed with an abject refusal. He had no idea what he was agreeing to, actually, other than he was sorry that he'd spoken and grateful for the chance to take it back. If Trowa wanted to keep secrets, well, that had to be okay with him, because Quatre couldn't last long if they both laid everything bare.

Trowa started the car again. "Where to?"

"Um," said Quatre. "Is it okay if we check in with Duo? I think Heero had today off, so, maybe all of us could…?"

Trowa nodded. He leaned across the seats and kissed the side of Quatre's face. "Whatever you want to do," he said.

Quatre ducked his head and bit down on a smile. "Okay."

They stopped for coffee first, since Quatre felt it was still a little early to drop in uninvited. Even though, technically, Quatre lived there at least temporarily. They sat together on an overstuffed sofa and finished their drinks, Quatre a hot chocolate, Trowa the same, so it wasn't even a true coffee date. Before they left he grabbed two extra drinks as a polite peace offering in case Duo overslept. Heero, he knew from experience, would wake up at the same time regardless of the actual schedule.

His concern proved unfounded. Heero answered the buzzer and the door itself, but Quatre quickly spotted Duo awake and active. He knelt on the far side of the apartment applying a sponge to the former streak of pastel rainbow. Apparently the cleaning project had proven successful so far; Duo had only a small section of wall left to clear.

"Hiya!" chirped Duo. "Good morning!"

"It is after noon," said Heero. Spread out near Duo was his bed sheet workstation. The busted open base of a blender lay in the center ready for mechanical surgery.

"We brought coffee," said Quatre. He held the excess drinks as proof.

"Best friends _ever_ delivery coffee right to my door. Thanks, guys. Let me commit this final act of rainbow-cide, and I'll come fetch my reward." Something bright and ecstatic clung to Duo, something beyond worrisome mania. Genuine happiness suffused the beaming smile he shot across the room.

"Okay, Duo." Quatre handed Heero one of the paper to-go cups.

"Thank you," said Heero stiffly. He stared at the cup as if to x-ray vision the contents.

"It's just plain coffee," said Quatre. "I wasn't sure what you liked."

"Boring ol' Joe for Heero, you guessed the right of it," Duo said. Quatre tried not to look inappropriately pleased since he had actually guessed Heero's preference. "Mine better be stuffed full of sugar and milk. Like ninety-five to ninety-eight percent delicious sugary milk fat-loaded pseudo-coffee." Duo attacked the wall with vengeance.

"Um. It has chocolate. And whipped cream."

"Fuck yes," said Duo. He snatched up a dry towel and ran it over the newly white walls. "Tada, finished."

"You missed a spot," said Heero. He pointed.

"Did I?"

"Yes."

Duo shrugged. "I'll go over it again later. Let me at this chocolate caffeine confectionary delight you've so kindly brought as a sacrifice."

Heero frowned at the wall but offered no other criticism. He lifted and lowered the coffee cup without actually taking a sip. Duo claimed his coffee from Quatre and peeled open the lid. He blew noisily into the resulting wedge. By the third time Heero failed to actually take a drink, Duo noticed.

"Here. Give it here," he said. "Hold mine for a second, delivery-Q."

Heero obligingly handed his coffee to Duo, who took it into the kitchen. He popped the lid off over the sink and set the cup aside. A moment's rifling through the cabinets turned up a ceramic coffee mug, which Duo transferred the drink into. He took a cautious sip and, apparently satisfied with the results, Duo carried the mug over to Heero.

"All clear," Duo said. "Good thinking, too. They don't make oven mitts for tongues." He turned to Quatre. "Hey, so, been wondering. Did you see Wufei or Zechs, like, at all after you left?"

"Oh," said Quatre. He looked to Trowa, who shrugged. "No, I guess not. We just went straight to the car, though."

"Yeah." Duo frowned. "Well. _You_ never came back last night, which is cool, walk of shame and all, coffee bribe accepted. But here's the thing, Zechs didn't either."

"Do you think something happened?"

"Yeah, he got drunk an slept it off in an alley. I don't know. And then today's Sunday, so he might have gone to the holy heaven luau on schedule, but he'd be back by now if that was the case. I mean, I don't know. Shit. I wouldn't care if I didn't think Wufei'd gone after the selfish bastard last night. Well. What's it, Wufei said something a curfew. So, he must have gone to wherever eventually. Double shit. I forgot to wrangle from 'Fei where he's living now. I wanna chit-chat him on the phone and stuff, too. Totally not fair of Zechs to monopolize him, just to get at Treize. Christ, when I get my hands on him…"

Heero drank his coffee at last. Tentatively, as if a spider lay curled within the dark liquid and was waiting for his lips to touch before springing. Quatre felt anxious as he watched. Nothing happened, however, other than Heero catching his eye and frowning at the attention. Quatre hastily turned to Duo.

"Um," Quatre said.

"You're right," said Duo. He sighed. "Rule from day fucking one, stick together. Well. Okay. Let's go."

"Go where?" Quatre had not quite followed the last conversation jump.

"Check the alleys for Zechs. I need to beat out of him Wufei's location. And seriously besides that, I figure we owe the guy a little loving concern, after everything the three of us have been through together."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Sliding in under the deadline yet again! But, hey, I made it. Thank you for reading! I'll continue to work hard. Summer is almost over, can you believe it? I'll have more free time before much longer. You know what that means: more story!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	88. Oblivion

LSC / 09-12-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Eight: Oblivion)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 88

**Oblivion**

It was all the better for Zechs that Heero Yuy lived in a rundown neighborhood on the edge of decent civilization. The cars that passed did so without slowing, his fellow pedestrians only glanced from their intended path to avoid collision, and best of all Zechs hardly knew the streets himself. The rare experience of getting lost came and went as he traced through the concrete and brick maze. As he walked he drank, and as he drank he successfully managed to think less and less.

When the sidewalk threatened to throw him like a roiling ship's deck, Zech wove a path away from the main streets and into a neglected lot. The brickwork wall of the dilapidated old building proved suitable for leaning against as he sat. He surveyed his temporary new home. Tufts of grass broke into the cracked pavement. Nature doing her best to reclaim the flat sea of cement.

At the opposite end of the lot hunkered a rusted-out hatchback with at least one flat tire. He considered getting up and going to see if the doors were locked. He could sleep inside the car across the backseat if they weren't, or try his hand at jimmying the lock. But that seemed a lot of effort for not a lot of reward.

Zechs set his bottle down just within reach. He drew his knees to his chest and hugged them, in a way he hadn't since he was extraordinarily young. He shouldn't have said anything, back at the apartment. Regrets tumbled wildly through his thoughts, which only meant he hadn't drank enough yet. He needed to ruin his memory, just as he'd ruined everything else so spectacularly. The butter soft leather of his sleeve pressed to Zechs's face as he rested his head across his arms. Eventually he'd get up and investigate the rundown car as shelter. Eventually he'd figure out a way to stop thinking about … Well, everything.

Numbness started in his hands, probably from the combination of the air being cold and the nerves getting pinched asleep, and spread up into his shoulders and down into his chest. Maybe he sat there longer than he thought, and maybe he didn't really think about how long he sat there.

Footsteps approaching gave him only a heartbeat's warning before a soft voice called, "Peacecraft?"

Only one person in the entirety of the world called him that, not counting the nuns at his primary school, and he highly doubted Sister Mary-Margaret was even still alive, much less slumming it on the west side of the city. Zechs lifted his head up from his arms. A blur of black and grey and golden cream slowly sorted itself out into a person. Precisely the person he expected to see, although he'd fervently hoped to be proven wrong.

Two black lines, elegant as brushstrokes, drew together over the bridge of Wufei's nose. His mouth turned down, but despite the frown he did not look angry. That confused Zechs. He ought to be angry. Much as Zechs wanted to forget, he could remember exactly all the reasons why Wufei ought to be angry. If he thought hard enough, he could even remember a few reasons why he ought to be mad at Wufei.

Wufei came closer, his steps somewhat unsure. He approached like one would a mad dog. Oh, Zechs liked that analogy. It made him seem tough rather than broken. "Are you all right?" asked Wufei.

Nothing seemed like the right answer. Zechs just stared up at the boy with God only knew what kind of expression. Probably not a good one, judging by the worried jag of Wufei's brow. He needed to stop over thinking things. Zechs found the bottle right where he'd left it and tried at the cap. It proved tricky, despite being a simple twist of metal. Glass bottle, to appease Treize's bewildering affluent snobbery, and Zechs need to stop over thinking things. Or thinking at all. Yes, that was it. Zechs wrenched the cap free and hurled the bit of metal out into the empty lot. Now he had to finish the bottle alone.

Wufei knelt in front of him. Very properly, too. Folded down to his knees like a geisha or something else too elegant for the situation. Stiff like a fucking two-by-four nailed to his back. "What are you doing?" Wufei asked.

"What's it look like?" Zechs found the tough rumbling sensation of the words satisfactory. He'd been afraid the sounds would come out trembling.

Dark eyes tracked the motions Zechs made as he drank straight from the dwindling bottle. "It looks like you are thirsty," said Wufei.

Noise tumbled up out of Zech's throat like reverse drowning. Something mean and desperate. Laughter. He laughed at Wufei. "Suppose I am," he said.

Wufei smiled, as if pleased with his joke. Maybe he couldn't figure out the mirthless quality of Zechs's laugh, or maybe he was just too scared to see the truth. He arranged himself into a crossed-legged sitting position. Settling in. _Jesus_, like he wasn't going anywhere. Zechs hadn't meant to encourage him.

"Go away," said Zechs. He meant it to be brusque. The slight unsteady slur turned it into more of a plea.

Wufei shrugged. "I can't," he said, with a note of apology. "I got lost looking for you."

Questions tumbled around and around, until Zechs felt dizzy with them. What did that even mean, _looking for you?_ His gut instinct was to get Wufei _un_lost; he'd proven himself good at that, and he liked seeing relief flash in Wufei's eyes at the sight of him. He'd take relief if he couldn't get happy. Zechs shook his head and regretted the way his vision sloshed sideways.

Wufei drew his legs into a mirror of Zechs's own position, so he really did look just as he had at the rest stop earlier in the day; lost, and shivering. Shivering, right. Zechs fought free of his jacket. Meiran hadn't thought to grab a jacket, either by neglect or intentional recklessness, and whichever of them dressed for the day had picked short sleeves despite the grey October sky.

When Zechs held out his jacket for Wufei he just got a soft, _Oh_, in response. After a moment Wufei said, "Thanks" but kept the jacket draped across his legs rather than cover his bare arms.

"Put it on," said Zechs.

Wufei hesitated before doing so. Zechs liked the look of his jacket on Wufei, even though it was much too large for him. He liked the jacket in general. He'd had it for a couple years, maybe less. Good on him for buying the damn thing a size up, since it still fit him just fine. Bought it, no stealing required, took the cash straight into the store and got the one he wanted. Times good and bad soaked into the leather and turned it soft. It weighed heavy with memory, so it was likely for the better Wufei take it.

"Did Heero kick you out?" asked Zechs. A stupid misfire of brain to vocal cords allowed him to form the question. He didn't want to talk about that, and he tasted regret.

"No," said Wufei. "I left."

"Why?" Zechs needed to shut up, but he couldn't stop himself.

Wufei did not answer. The two of them exchanged a stare long enough that it became almost comical that neither blinked. At last Wufei dropped his gaze. He shrugged, physically rejecting Zechs's scrutiny, and scuffed a palm over his knee. He moved his hand in a slow circle, some idle gesture of disquiet that Zechs found mesmerizing.

"Forget it," said Zechs. He gripped a hand tighter into the glass neck of the bottle. "Just forget it. Black everything out. I plan to."

Normally he'd get a rise out of Wufei, talking like that. The kid hated getting reminded of that shit. Zechs knew better. He learned that lesson last time, after they fought on the way home from the movie theater, and maybe he said it to be cruel. Maybe he wanted a fight; he'd thrown a punch below the belt and waited for the retaliation. He expected a snappish answer, some biting remark with Wufei all bristled up like a cat. What he did not expect was Wufei to glance over at him and smile. It was the sort of smile you gave old people in hospice care or kids who stepped on landmines. A smile that gripped the frozen shards in his chest and twisted.

"It doesn't work like that," said Wufei.

Some quality of kindness in his voice hurt worse than anything. Zechs drank the fiery alcohol that burned his throat, but he still felt cold inside. "Nothing does," he said. "Nothing works out how you want."

"Yes. That's true," agreed Wufei. Quiet enough that Zechs might not have actually heard the right words. Wufei's eyes traced over the depleted quantity of whisky. "Peacecraft, I think you've had enough."

For some reason it enraged him. Probably because Wufei was right, or maybe because Zechs found anger easier to handle than bleak sorrow. "Fuck you." He enunciated each syllable with excruciating care, as slurring would only undermine his position. "If I can still drink it's not enough. Shit, I wish I had enough."

"Oh. Well." Wufei seemed unsure how to respond, or maybe Zechs hadn't been able to articulate his despair succinctly enough. Wufei cast a wary look over the lot. The dripping remainder of twilight cast strange shadows over his face and rendered him almost a stranger. "Do you intend to sit here all night?"

"Maybe," said Zechs. "What's it to you?"

"Ah," said Wufei. He pushed and pulled viciously at the balance of his glasses across his nose. "I'm afraid my conscience wouldn't like that much. You were good enough to help me out earlier today." He frowned, and Zechs recognized the look at once. Not Treize's sultry pout or Meiran's vicious glare, but the wry, playful kind of scowl that indicated you were in on the joke and so was he; it was an entirely Wufei-like expression.

Zechs folded his arms back over his knees. They made a decent headrest that way, even without the cushioned leather of his jacket. When he spoke it came out muffled, choked by the cold flesh of his forearm. "Whatever."

Zechs could feel the shift in the air between them, sudden and sorrowful as a snowstorm. Wufei stood. Zechs heard the rustle of fabric and slide of the boy's shoes against the cement. He didn't bother to look up. All the better that Wufei leave now. "What are you doing?" said a crisp, disdainful voice.

_Oh, what the hell._

Zechs flinched his hands into fists. Maybe an earthquake would sunder the earth and let him drop between the cracks. Maybe the brick wall at his back lacked structural integrity and would descend in a flurry of shattered masonry and devastation. If he was lucky, which he wasn't, but he might as well let the brutal what-if game play itself out, Zechs simply mistook that voice and its tone.

A sigh fell out of him like a sob. "What's it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're being an idiot. Why am I here?"

Zechs flopped his head to one side, just enough to look up through the fringe of his bangs. "Shit. You expect me to know that?"

Meiran scowled. The expression suited the tone. He expected nothing less than scum-under-her-shoe hate and received it in full. Absolutely no trace of Wufei's playful puzzlement in the expression, even though the shape of the pink mouth, the slant of dark brows, and even the subtler lines of the face remained unchanged.

He forgot how to breathe. His lungs simply surrendered and lay still. It hurt too much. She'd found hair ties somewhere. He hadn't even heard the soft snap of the pigtails going up, but there they dangled to either side of that hateful expression. _Ridiculous_. Hysteria urged him to laugh, but Zechs resisted at the last second. A strange quivering snicker escaped him instead.

"You're drunk," she said.

The grin fell from his face. "Yeah."

"Am I?"

"You're asking me?"

Meiran's mouth leveled out with distaste. She opened her mouth to spew more poison at him, but Zechs fumbled up a hand to forestall her. No more. He couldn't take anymore. "Okay," he said. "I'm done."

"What?"

"You win, Meiran. I quit. I won't bother you again."

She stared at him. He couldn't read the expression, which was nothing like he usually saw from her "Really?"

"Yeah." Zechs swallowed a metallic taste. "Out and left-ish, toward the light. Near the liquor store with the busted open sign. Shouldn't be far. Transfer at Arbor Heights, and then up on the ten. You can figure the rest out on your own."

Meiran rolled her eyes. "I can't understand whatever slurred idiocy that is."

"Directions home – never mind," said Zechs. "You've got time. Not my problem."

"Of course this is your problem," said Meiran. "You're the one who dragged me out here."

Zechs shrugged. He didn't have a snappy come back for that. He didn't want to think of one. He just wanted her to leave. Something burned at the back of his throat. It felt wet and lumpy.

"Well," said Meiran. "All right. Don't call or come by the house again." She somehow made it sound like question.

The rise and fall of his shoulders could be considered a shrug.

She crossed her arms; chin up and eyes flashing, pretty as a china doll with those absurd pigtails. Meiran said, "Wufei's going to be a lot better off without you." She wanted to get in one final twist of the knife while he was down and belly-up.

"Yeah. Well. For once we agree."

She frowned at him. Not the hateful, disgusted, squish-the-cockroach kind of frown either. Tricky crossword puzzle clue frown, or maybe looking for the car keys in the fridge, or trying to figure out why he was giving up so easily. Well, it wasn't _easy_. He'd never thought it'd be easy. He shouldn't have said anything.

"What'd you do?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Zechs. Despair reached a boiling point and erupted, pouring out of him with vicious heat. "Leave me alone. It's done, okay? You won't have to see me ever again. No one will, all right? Not you, not Wufei, not Treize. I'm done, don't you get it? It's over. It's all over."

"You don't get to look so sad about it! You – you idiot."

Zechs stared up at her. "Are you fucking serious?"

Her cheeks lit up like fireworks. "Goodbye!" said Meiran. Shouted, more like. All flustered and cute with her pigtails flouncing. And with his jacket. Well, that was okay. Wufei could keep it. Zechs never should have said anything.

She left.

Zechs thumped the back of his head into the brick. She didn't look back this time either. He didn't know why he expected otherwise. He didn't know a lot. Part of what made him so damn stupid, just all the time. An utter complete idiot incapable of doing anything right. He never should have said anything, back at Heero Yuy's apartment. He should have just let Duo and Wufei have it out. Let Duo have Wufei. Had him from the very start. Zechs might be stupid but he wasn't blind. Willful ignorance might explain Duo's rose-tinted friendship goggles but, dammit, Zechs couldn't just _unsee_ the evidence.

He'd lost. He was lost. Not in the blackout/wrong-bus/stuck-at-a-rest-stop sense of the word but lost in the way stupid Luna Armonia's mom lost. Hollow hunger clenched forcefully around the liquor he'd so rudely substituted in for all other substance. Well his stomach could just used to being miserable. Everyone could just get used to being miserable. Misery for everyone.

A car drove past. Somewhere further out a car alarm shrilled useless noise into the evening. Zechs lost track of the brick wall at his back and the cement beneath and the chilling feel of his arms against his face. Light and shadow and cold October air faded to numb grey. Streetlights came and went through the dark reflection of a bus window.

Through the stained glass church windows his Father watched. A doctor in a white lab coat hushed sympathy and warning to a tall woman with red-rimmed eyes, but he wasn't supposed to see or hear that, so Zechs turned away. The ground slid sideways and became the sky in an endless night. He was going to make a snow angel in the fresh-fallen winter, but the cold burned and filled his lungs and his mom made chicken noodle soup from the can but it tasted like scratch.

A voice spoke his name, but it wasn't his name. It wasn't what he liked to be called. It wasn't him. Some undulating motion trembled over the slashes of color and light, shaking the world to a drunken impossibility. The empty lot and the brick and the cold returned. Back and forth his body moved like a puppet with cut strings.

"Peacecraft. Peacecraft. Wake up, you fool."

"What'rey...?" Some approximation of speech left his mouth like rocks rolling downhill.

Wufei ceased shaking his shoulders. The boy leaned in close; their faces almost touched. Wufei was sideways. The lines of the buildings above cut shadows against the starless sky. "Peacecraft? Are you awake now?"

Catastrophic failure best described his ability to understand what was happening. "You left," Zechs said. It sounded mostly okay, considering.

Worry washed a tidal wave of confusion over Wufei's face. "Yes, I suppose I must have. I couldn't remember what had happened to you, however, so I came back. I'm glad I found you again."

It made as much sense of the rest. At least Zechs figured out Wufei hadn't gone sideways after all, but that he'd slumped inelegantly to the hard cement. He got upright using the wall as support. Everything lurched unsteadily in response.

"Here," said Wufei. He took a firm grasp of Zechs's arms just under the elbows. "Can you stand?"

Zechs opened his mouth to explain how he wanted to stay in the car's backseat, how he'd told Meiran a not-so-fond farewell already, how Wufei ought to just walk away and not look back. Instead he staggered up on half-asleep legs and felt Wufei's slight weight bracing him. "You're freezing, Peacecraft. I've got your jacket, here. Put it on."

Wufei'd been shivering earlier, because it was cold out. Now he had a jacket. He had two jackets, but one of them was now in Zechs's hands. The leather was soft and filled with lingering body heat. Heavier than Wufei's simple zip-up with the worn, ill-fitted look of a thrift store or maybe even a donation bin. Zechs felt at the boy's hands and neck and cheeks to see if they were cold still. Wufei half-twisted from his roving grasp before halting, perhaps made aware that Zechs needed the support for balance.

"Peacecraft, what…?" Wufei shook his head. He pushed ineffectively at the leather until Zechs shrugged into the jacket. "All right. I think I've figured out the streets around here. Which building is Yuy's? That's where you're staying, correct?"

"No." Zechs lashed out denial like a whip crack. He'd left everything at Heero Yuy's apartment but nothing would make him go back there. "Not there. I can't."

"All right," said Wufei, without batting so much as a single dark eyelash. "Well I certainly cannot take you home with me. Have you anywhere else to go?"

Zechs considered it. "Hell."

Wufei laughed, sharp and snappish like a defense mechanism, and fell into awkwardness when Zechs did not. "That's what Maxwell always called the hospital," he said. "It's a play off—"

"Got it. Yeah." Zechs drew in a long, careful breath and exhaled a huffing steam of white. He considered his options and found them equally detestable. He was tired, mostly. Or rather, entirely. "Okay. Sure," he said. "I got a place."

Wufei bullied him to the sidewalk. "Let me see. I came from this direction, so. The bus stop is this way."

"Fuck slumming." Zechs fought a hard won battle against his pocket and pulled free his wallet. The snaps were beyond his current level of coordination. He handed the whole thing over to Wufei. "Call some wheels."

"A taxi?" Wufei worked the wallet open. He ran a thumb over the stash of money inside. "Where did you get this?"

"Treize." Technically the truth. Zechs found a smile with too many edges, but it hurt to wear so he let it go after a moment.

"Where did he get it?"

"You."

It stumped Wufei. He didn't say anything further. He pocketed the wallet and then guided Zechs to the alcove of some closed up business. A red and white sign proclaimed the property for sale and likely to stay that way judging by the accompanying graffiti. Wufei dumped Zechs on to the front step. He looked carefully at the faded numbers stenciled into the glass door that proclaimed the street address. He mouthed them to himself, memorizing.

"Wait here," Wufei said. As if Zechs might get up and fucking tap dance away. He should. Not the dancing, but the bug-fucking out part sounded solid. He'd already said goodbye. He needed to end it, like ripping off a band-aid. One quick pull. So what if it hurt? It'd be over soon enough.

Presently Wufei returned. He just stood there, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. It was a strange, nervous fidget that seemed out of place. Zechs scrubbed grit from his eyes and yawned. One of those wide yawns, the sort that turned infectious, since Wufei mimicked him a few seconds later. For some reason it made him smile and look to Zechs as if they shared some joke. Zechs refused to get in on the merriment. He fixed his gaze elsewhere in silence until the taxi arrived.

Wufei spoke briefly with the driver, perhaps confirming it was their cab and not merely a cab – like the littered fringes of plastic bags and fast food wrappers needed a lift. Zechs interjected himself into the middle of Wufei's soft-spoken conversation to give the destination address. "Get in," he said. He shoved at Wufei's shoulder.

Once they got underway the driver peppered Wufei with accusations. _Is your friend drunk? _

_No, sir_, lied Wufei. Straight-up lied, without a single hesitation. Zechs lumped together a pillow out of his shoulder and the door. The stupid driver's voice persisted.

_If he'd going to be sick not in the car, okay? _

_No, sir. Yes, sir. He won't._ Only Wufei would call a cabbie _sir._

Maybe he fell asleep, or maybe it just felt like dreaming. Maybe he was still in the alley face-down in his own misery, or stuck in Heero Yuy's apartment watching Wufei offer his heart into an incinerator of misplaced trust. Passing streetlights blurred over his vision and churned up a prickling, shock-sick sensation, but Wufei's lied so politely that Zechs fought against the sudden rush of nausea. He hitched himself upright against the back of the seat to counteract the spins.

His neighborhood loomed gloomier and darker than he remembered, or maybe that was just the single street lamp closest to the white Victorian house's fault for flickering into darkness. A few windows in the surrounding buildings glowed with inner warmth, but the cut-up white house remained dark and cold.

"Thanks for the ride," said Zechs. It came out sincere when he meant the opposite. He salvaged the effort with a mocking salute before stepping free of the taxi. Wufei said something in reply, an urgent sort of call, but Zechs didn't bother to listen. He shouldered through the front door and up the narrow flight of stairs. He was not running away. He couldn't get one leg in front of the other with enough coordination for that.

Footsteps caught up with him not halfway up the stairs. "Peacecraft, wait a moment." Zechs turned quick enough that Wufei fell back a step. He rallied easily enough. "I have your wallet."

"You should have kept it." Zechs snatched the offered lump of metal and leather. "Idiot tax. Whatever. Good deed done. Get out of here before the cab leaves you."

"Ah," said Wufei, the sound quite distinct in the quiet of the night. The embarrassed note of_ I hadn't considered that_ struck Zechs as exceedingly not amusing.

"What the hell," said Zechs. "Did you tell the guy to wait?"

Pink bloomed over Wufei's face. "No matter," he said, with a failing note of confidence. "I can take the bus still." He retreated down a step further, so that Zechs unwittingly towered over him

Zechs set a hand against the wall. "You can't just – Fuck." He considered the somewhat directionally-challenged Wufei wandering around his shitty neighborhood at God-knew-when in the night and felt a sharp pang.

"Peacecraft?"

Callous armor rushed in to soothe away the hurt from whatever soft bits of him still remained. "Whatever," said Zechs. "Go get lost. See if I care."

It was an exceptionally childish response. Bewilderment rippled over Wufei's face, like taking a leafblower to a Zen sand garden. All those little raked lines swirling around the cold, dead lumps of stone in the center. Something like that. The frown lingered a moment longer on Wufei's face before clearing into timid hesitation, an expression equally unsuited to his face. "May I come upstairs and use your telephone, in that case? To call for another taxi."

"Sure," sighed Zechs. Callousness could only take him so far into cruelty. He trudged up the rest of the stairs with Wufei close at his heels.

He was nearly done in by the coordinated effort of both kneeling to flip the mat and finding the spare key underneath in the dim light. His fingers knocked the stupid thing against his shoe several times before getting a nail under the metal edge. The dark apartment beyond looked just as he expected, or at least as much as the shadows could reveal. The sweet, floral notes of his mom's perfume mingled with a near-permanent smokiness inside the cramped little space of the living room. A wave of homesickness assaulted him, nearly knocked him down, and Zechs veered sharply toward the hallway.

Her bedroom door was closed, and Zechs wasn't sure if that meant his mom had gone out for the night or already lay in bed. He nearly knocked, to be certain either way, and some drunk sentimentalism actually wanted her to be home. Wufei trailed after him into the bedroom with its sloped ceiling and excess of clutter.

"Phone's in the other room," said Zechs. He fell across the bed. No bed had ever felt softer or warmer or more welcoming. The sheets even smelled right, not of anything in particular, except maybe whatever brand of fabric softener his mom used, but they were familiar and _his_.

"Oh," said Wufei. "Is this yours?" He gestured vaguely to either the bookcase or the closet maybe the bed; just the whole room in general. He didn't really point at anything.

Zechs shrugged out of the heavy leather jacket and let it crumple to the floor. Somehow his shoelaces formed an impossible knot. "Guess so," he said.

"Ah. To be more precise, is this your home?"

"What's it matter?" Zechs got one shoe free and focused on the other.

"It doesn't. I was just asking." Wufei looked terribly out of place standing in the middle of Zechs's bedroom. Which was funny, since not so long ago Treize stood in the very same patch of worn carpet and owned the place. A double-vision came and went and made Zechs feel equally out of place. A stranger in his own home.

Wufei ran his gaze over the tumble of Zechs's possessions. "Do you want me to get you a glass of water?"

"Why?" asked Zechs. He stretched across the bed. Something heavy worked into his lungs and came out as a sigh.

"I don't know," said Wufei. "You told me drinking water helped a hangover."

"Thought you didn't remember that night."

"Well. Some." Wufei reached hesitantly and traced his finger over the rare few actual books on the overflowing bookcase. "Did you like this one?" he asked suddenly. He held up the book to show Zechs.

"Never read it," said Zechs without looking. He might have actually read the book, probably had to for school, but hell if he wanted to start a book club.

"Oh." Wufei returned the book to the shelf and turned from the room. After a moment came the drifting sound of Wufei in the kitchen. The familiar clatter of a glass being taken from the cabinet and of ice getting rattled out of the freezer formed a wordless lullaby. Zechs nestled into the bedding.

Wufei returned, his footsteps soft across the floor. "Here, Peacecraft," he announced. No doubt holding out the glass of water like a present. Buried into the soft, dark oblivion of the pillow, Zechs could hear the infinitesimally quiet sound of Wufei setting the unwanted glass of water on the nightstand. A heavy kind of silence descended, thick and suffocating.

The bed sunk near Zechs's legs as Wufei sat on the edge. "Peacecraft," he said softly. "There is something that I wish to discuss with you." Serious and solemn, so that Zechs thought immediately of Charlotte's bad news voice. "When I was twelve years old, I went to live in a state facility for a crime I don't remember committing."

It got Zechs's reluctant attention. He shifted his face out from the pillow. "You what?"

Wufei sat as he had on the car ride back from the truck stop; knees together with his hands clasped between them, and head bowed to take up the least amount of space possible. "I suppose I must have done as they say, but I don't remember. It wasn't the first time I'd blacked something out, but it was the first time I really got into trouble over it. A lot of trouble, in fact. I don't remember the crime itself, but I must have... Well. It was very difficult for me to live in the secure facility."

"Jail? They sent you to jail?" Now Zechs sat propped on one elbow, dragged into the conversation by curiosity.

Wufei shrugged away the question with a defensive gesture. "This may not come as a surprise to you, but I do not make friends easily. Until recently, in fact, I could not really claim to have any. My life is very complicated. I'm aware that I can be difficult to be around."

Something in the matter of fact tone kept Zechs from offering a token counter argument. Wufei spoke casually, in the same way one might declare summer hot or ice cream cold.

"I was told that I could get transferred elsewhere if I behaved, so I did, and it worked. I kept to myself, as much as I could, and the loneliness didn't bother me because I wasn't planning on staying there long. It was a very miserable place, though. I don't know what I would have done had the judge decided differently at the case review. Ah, sorry. I've gotten sidetracked." He glanced at Zechs and their eyes met very briefly.

Wufei looked away with a flinch. "I am trying to explain why I was so unhappy about transferring into the psychiatric hospital last year, before you and I met. I had done well enough up until that point, so I took it as a mark of failure to end up in a place like that. No offense, of course. I'm not trying to say I deserve better. I mean, I know I can't ever be completely normal, but, well-" Wufei shrugged, the gesture small and fragile enough to tip Zechs all the way upright.

"It's never easy being the new kid anywhere," said Wufei. "Let alone the new kid in a place like Saint Helen's. I was very lonely. I considered my life exceedingly unsatisfactory. I tried to follow the rules, but it was just from habit. I didn't care anymore. I didn't see the point in trying. I was miserable - until I met Maxwell. He was kind to me. I honestly didn't think much of him at first, but, well. You know how he is. I think he simply determined that we were to be friends, no matter how difficult I made the situation."

Zechs would have liked very much for Wufei not to smile like that as he talked about Duo Maxwell. It stung like salt in fresh wounds. It burned like a fever and set his tongue to ashes.

"I think Maxwell has a thing for difficult people. Maybe he likes the challenge. He took to Barton at once, and then there's Yuy." Wufei dropped his shoulders before rebounding, glossing right over the prickly subject. "I owe Maxwell a great deal of kindness. I enjoy his company, for the most part. We are _friends_."

The emphasis struck Zechs like a physical blow. "Why're you telling me this?"

Wufei flashed him a quick look. "I thought perhaps you had made an incorrect assumption. I just wanted to explain things."

Some quality of Wufei's kindness infuriated him. "You wanted to lie to me."

"I have not lied to you."

Zechs shook his head, the motion trembling through the long fall of his hair. It fell over his face like a curtain. "You lie to yourself."

Wufei frowned. "I should have waited to tell you this tomorrow. I forgot that you are still very drunk."

"M'not going to see you tomorrow."

"Oh." If the lines over Wufei's brow twisted any tighter they'd break. "Why is that?"

"I'm done with you," Zechs announced. He expected it'd be good to say, like releasing a burden or ripping clear a bandage. It didn't. No lifted exuberance filled the vast hollow in his chest. He wanted to take the words back, to undo the decision, but he couldn't. Every shred of tenderness fell victim to bleak self-loathing. He needed to push the knife deeper and let all his troubles bleed away. Zechs forced his voice to hold steady and slide out a final cruelty. "You were right. You're too complicated."

"Oh," breathed Wufei. An involuntary sound, like getting on the receiving end of a suckerpunch. His mouth flattened with the quick, reflexive struggle against sudden distress. Zechs saw the hurt ripple out from the boy's dark eyes and into the trembling clutch of his hands. Wufei dropped his gaze to his knees. "I see," he said. "All right."

The meek response changed something inside Zechs, broke him in a way he never thought possible. Wufei pushed up from the bed in a smooth, controlled motion. Just like that the kid would walk away. He'd take the abuse without so much as a single argument. He'd let Zechs end it on a drunk cruelty - After all, what'd Wufei have to walk away from? What did they even have? Not kindness, surely, and not even friendship. Zechs was nothing to him. Nothing.

Zechs shot out a hand, quick like a cobra strike. None of his usual drunk slowness kept him from grabbing hold of Wufei's arm and yanking the boy toward him. Zechs pulled hard enough that Wufei lost his balance entirely. They collided in a tangle of knees and elbows. Wufei made only a short noise of surprise, something like a gasp, before Zechs sorted the tangle out enough to kiss him. He _kissed_ Wufei. The barest resistance met his tongue before Wufei's lips parted, clumsy and inexperienced. It was nothing like kissing Treize.

It lasted only a fractional amount. Wufei jolted into resistance like a cat dropped into water. Zechs formed a painful grip into the boy's wrists to keep him close, and Wufei stilled with the same abruptness as which he'd fought. Pallor and something of a flush waged a colorful warfare across his face. "Peacecraft, wait," he rushed to say. "You've mistaken things."

Zechs had never been more sure of his actions, however wrong they may be. He pulled Wufei to him and assaulted another kiss from the shock-still lips. Wufei fought back with an almost gentle opposition, twisting in a way that seemed coy. He broke contact between them a hesitation's worth of heartbeats after Zechs initiated it.

"Stop," he said again. "Wait."

Zechs would not wait. He could not. He rolled the both of them off the edge of the bed and into it. Wufei got both arms up and crossed in front of him like a shield, even with his wrists still pinned with Zechs's considerable grip. "Peacecraft, listen to me," said Wufei with a growing urgency. "This is a mistake. I am not Treize. You are making a mistake. You've been drinking; you don't know what you're doing."

Maybe Wufei only meant to offer a convenient excuse for the offense already made, or maybe he genuinely thought Zechs that far gone. Maybe he was that far gone. Zechs wanted to explain the truth of it, except he wasn't sure of that himself. _You're not Treize_, he wanted to say. _I know that._

He wanted to caress the silky strands of Wufei's hair and feel the glossy tresses run through his fingers like water. What Zechs wanted he took, just like the kiss, so he buried a not-so-gentle hand into Wufei's ponytail. The hair tie came free with a clumsy jerk that made Wufei wince.

"What are you doing?" Wufei demanded. He was just now starting to get angry.

"Whatever I want," said Zechs. It felt good to say and even better to mean. He reached to trace the furrowed line of Wufei's brushstroke brows, and Wufei recoiled to stop him. He had a hand free now and used it to push uselessly on Zechs's shoulder, as if his meager strength could shove the older boy off him. Even drunk and slow and stupid, Zechs was stronger. It was easy to pin Wufei to the bed and kiss him.

Now Wufei fought him in earnest. He made a pitched sound of protest against Zechs's lips. The cold edge of the boy's glasses bumped against his cheek, and Zechs retaliated with a clumsy sweep of his hand. The wire frames went tumbling to the floor to be forgotten.

A hard flash of pain distracted Zechs for a moment. Wufei had gotten a fistful of long platinum strands and given a sharp yank. "Peacecraft," he fumed. "You must stop this. Let me up."

"I don't want to." Zechs caught Wufei's hand and tangled it into his larger grasp. He stretched Wufei's arms up and over his head, pinning them against the headboard. Wufei's knuckles rapped against the wood. This left Zechs without a free hand to stroke Wufei's hair or fingers to trace the boy's expression, but his mouth and hip and thigh could redouble affections.

Panic laced the way Wufei said his name. "Peacecraft, unhand me." Still formal, even to the extreme, even to the end. He gave a sudden burst of energy and effort to throw Zechs off him. He could not. Zechs wanted to take pleasure from the victory but felt only frustration and the hollowness return. It expanded within his chest and became an eternity.

Zechs rumbled a sound up from the agony in his heart. A growling sort of noise, not quite Wufei's name but close to it. He wanted to give actual words, form and shape them into an explanation or an offering of tenderness. Something within him had been stressed to a breaking point, something delicate, or maybe it was something he'd never possessed in sufficient quantity to begin with. He smiled the tiger's smile, lean and cruel and untouchable, because otherwise he might cry.

Zechs lingered a long caress over the fledgling bruises just beginning to tint the underside of Wufei's wrists. The zipper on Wufei's jacket caught and nearly broke with the wrenching effort Zechs put into freeing it. The same grey shirt as before lay underneath, and Zechs smoothed a hand under the hem to feel the taught skin of Wufei's chest. Wufei bucked against him, twisting and turning like a caged animal.

"Damn you, Peacecraft! Let me go."

Their faces were so close. Zechs could see the fire and fury and fear in the endless dark depths of Wufei's eyes. With his hair tousled into a gentle mess and his lips half-parted and swollen, he made an intoxicating victim. Zechs bent his mouth into the curve of Wufei's neck to drink his fill. The flesh tasted sweet and forbidden. Wufei sucked in a ragged gasp.

Sudden pain raked Zechs's shoulders in long gashes. His little wildcat had found his claws. Zechs could not recall where his own shirt had gone. Memories were starting to slide sideways into oblivion even as he lived them. His teeth came free of the tender flesh, but again the claws dug fiendish resistance into his back. Zechs pushed the shirt higher and higher over Wufei's chest until it slid free. He twisted the fabric around Wufei's wrists to forcibly sheath the wildcat claws.

"You— stop," cried Wufei. Flushed and panting, he made an irresistible decadence even as he fought against Zechs with all his strength. "You can't."

But he could. Zechs could be so cruel. Already the madness he indulged in lay beyond forgiveness. He had nothing to lose and the glorious invincibility of apathy let him forge ahead. Nice never suited him. This dark lust was all he was and would be. The truth of him lay bare for Wufei to know.

Words burned in his throat like fire. _Please_ _hate me_, he wanted to say to Wufei. _If you can't love me than hate me_.

Soon there would be no more. With sudden, absurd clarity Zechs knew that the holes in his memory would grow larger and larger until becoming complete. Already he could not remember how they'd come to be in his bed in the room with the sloped ceiling and neglected bookcase, or why his back stung in long stripes. He knew grief and tasted bitterness, and an ocean of sorrow spilled salted regret. Something he hadn't done in years.

Soft sounds came now, different than all that had come before. _I don't hate you._ A stillness arose between them, so that Zechs could almost see his own reflection in the endless dark depths of Wufei's eyes. A knot of fabric bumped against the back of his head. Slender arms fell around his shoulders. Pulling him closer or pushing him away, Zechs couldn't tell, as the water kept rising higher and higher until he could drown.

(Author's Notes)

I am so sorry this took forever. I have a lot of excuses, such as my car breaking down (I had to take the bus everywhere for two weeks), and then I had a breakdown, and then on top of it all I wrote an entire first draft of this chapter and hated it. So I re-wrote it. And then I was too nervous to actually post it. I've been sitting on this completed material for a week now. I'm sorry.

My goal is to have the next chapter done quickly as a means to make it up to you all. Also thank you kindly to everyone for the reviews and support; it means the world to me. Thank you as well to May for, well, pretty much everything.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	89. After

LSC / 09-19-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Eighty-Nine: After)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 89

**After**

* * *

The slow, steady pounding behind his eyes shot forth renewed agony with each heartbeat. Zechs knew it was going to be one of those hangovers that persisted and set him into regret. He also knew going to back to sleep wasn't an option. The empty gnawing in his stomach needed something to assault. Water, he needed water and maybe toast. The gritty feel of sand in his mouth persisted as he worked together enough moisture to swallow. It was going to be one of _those_ hangovers.

A general sense of unease settled into his spine and across the back of his neck. Zechs assessed his situation as best he could without actually opening his eyes. He was in bed. Okay, yes, there was the pillow beneath his cheek. He stretched a hand into the empty warmth of the tangled sheets beside him. That emptiness nagged at him; something seemed wrong about it. A lot seemed wrong. The bed felt wrong, too soft and too familiar, and the faint sunlight stabbing at his closed eyelids came from all the wrong angles.

Zechs opened his eyes and saw that the ceiling slanted. _Oh. This is my room._ Not a borrowed crash space, but his actual bedroom, with his actual belongings. The bed was his, even though it'd been months he'd last slept in it. Zechs searched his memory and found it blank. No answer sprung forth out of the oblivion to explain how he'd ended the night here, of all places. _Great_._ Just fucking great_.

"Are you awake?" came a voice. It wavered into the silence and smothered him with a sudden flash of sentimentalism.

Zechs opened his eyes. His lashes came apart in a dried, crusty way that seemed just as strange as everything else. He turned his head too quickly toward the voice and felt a wash of nausea. Cold sweat beaded across his aching temples. "Mom?"

Charlotte rolled the carefully manicured line of her nails over the opposite elbow. She wore a church outfit, a light sweater with a modest neckline over a coordinating skirt. Not a single stray hair rebelled from the elegant upsweep of her pale gold hair. Zechs brought an unsteady hand into the snarl of his own hair.

"Christ," said Charlotte. She didn't seem as furious as he expected. A decisive lack of anger suffused her remarkably calm features. Zechs recalled a much older memory, a glimmering deja-vu mirage of the last time he'd come home to crash in wayward stray fashion. The ice of her eyes bore into him. This time, at least, she wasn't having to call 911 or mop up a bloody bathroom floor. Zechs wondered if the same sort of comparison occurred to his mom as she stood there to watch him sleep for God knew how long. Beside her on the nightstand stood a glass of water, untouched, and the sight of it triggered something out of the depths of his blackout.

_Do you want me to get you a glass of water?_

Oh, hell. _Wufei_. A groan escaped him, low and mournful like a wounded animal.

Charlotte's steady composure melted into a near-frown. The plucked arch of her brows lowered a fractional amount. "Milli," she said. Childish homesickness bolted into him at the sound of her voice forming the old hated nickname with mothering concern. "Milli, have you been drinking?"

He nodded slowly, rendered both mute and meek by a whirlwind of remorse. Although the specific details eluded him, Zechs could sift enough from the murky drift of his memory to taste regret, sharp and bitter on the back of his throat. Enough to feel shame and self-loathing and, oh, so much; the rest stop and car ride and Heero Yuy's stupid apartment and more and worse.

Topping it all off was the absolute brick wall he reached midway into the nightmare of his own cruel actions. _Peacecraft, wait_ – lips that were nothing like Treize but entirely the same, and then nothing. Oblivion. Only the dull sense of dread that assured Zechs he had every reason to feel a suffocation of guilt. Maybe worst of all – and it was all bad, every last broken minute of his existence – but worst of all (_Oh, hell)_ the empty spread of sheets beside him in the cold light of dawn and no memory of where Wufei might have gone or when.

His mom made a soft click of her tongue, gently chiding him with the sound. "Oh, Milli," she said. Some bewildering fondness colored her voice into rosy warmth. She sat on the edge of his bed. When her hand reached for him, Zechs tipped his face into her touch. She brushed at his hair and stroked his forehead as if to soothe away the hangover-induced headache.

"Mom," he said. Something had turned his voice thick, almost choking. "Mom, I –"

"Hush," she commanded. She ceased petting at him but spoke with tenderness. "Whatever you have to say can wait. Hurry into the shower; we can still make the second service."

"What?"

"Church, Milli. It is Sunday, after all. I'll lay out some nice things for you to wear while you're in the shower." She smiled, and Zechs found the curve of her mouth inscrutable. He knew all her smiles except this one. Everything about her expression confused him.

"Mom, did –"

"Milli." She cut into his words with a sharp enough edge that Zechs flinched. She flashed another mystifying smile. "Honey, not now. I don't want to be late."

"Yeah," said Zechs. "Okay, Mom."

Charlotte patted his shoulder as she stood. The floral notes of her perfume enveloped him in softness. She drew the door closed behind her, leaving Zechs to wonder at what had brought her into his room in the first place. Then again, his door faced hers across the hall, and it wasn't like he'd been trying to hide.

Zechs collected himself out of the bed with careful, deliberate motions. His body protested with the typical wrenched out dish-rag weakness of a hard night's drinking. He found the water glass with both hands and drank deeply; the rush of liquid into his stomach was at first a violent assault. He trembled on the cusp of upending the water right back onto the nightstand before things settled tenuously in his favor. A small victory, at least.

Zechs took the thick wristbands off from either arm and set them carefully on to his nightstand. A moment's searching turned up last night's clothes, which he tugged on for the short journey across the hall into the bathroom. A lingering, humid dampness permeated the air from when his mom had showered, evidently not all that long ago. An assortment of her makeup littered counter. Zechs set a hip into the door to close it up firm before shedding his clothes.

A stranger returned his stare in the mirror. There was something swollen and puffy about the boy's pale face, with its red-rimmed eyes and blotched cheeks. The tangled hopelessness of his hair hung dull in the bright bathroom lightning. Most concerning, however, were the long lines scratched into his back. Zechs twisted sideways for a better angle in the mirror. A dotted line of bruises marred the curve of his shoulders, delicate like snowflakes but far more vicious. A wildcat had attacked him, clawing damning evidence into his flesh.

Revulsion flipped his stomach into the losing side of the battle, and the glass of water he'd chugged made a reappearance into the sink. Zechs gripped the counter edge until his knuckles turned white and the heaving sickness ceased. A soft knock came at the door, Charlotte no doubt drawn by the noise. "Milli?" she called. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," croaked Zechs. He cupped a handful of cold water into his mouth to rinse free the sour taste of bile. "Mom, I'm fine."

"I'll make you some toast," said Charlotte. She was no stranger to a hangover, and the matter of fact solution seemed hysterically quaint when stacked against situation.

Zechs spun the shower faucet to scalding. Great clouds of steam rose into the air. A half-empty and well-worn bottle of his fancy salon-style conditioner fought for space amid the all junk with scents like Spa Sea Breeze and Rainwater Aloe Cucumber. The hot water beat into his skin and alleviated only a little of the feeling of filth that sunk deep into his conscience. A suffusion of sea breeze-smelling lather did nothing but sting the risen welts along the scratch marks, but he scrubbed and scrubbed until the water ran pink rivulets into the drain.

At last he turned off the shower and stepped dripping onto the shaggy bathmat. He found a towel for his hair and another for his waist. After a moment Zechs rubbed a circle into the fogged up mirror with the side of his palm. The boy reflected back looked a bit less of a stranger, even soaking wet and miserable, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Zechs trudged back into his bedroom. As promised, his mom had laid out a clean pair of pressed khakis and a crisp dress shirt in uncharacteristic periwinkle. He could probably find a different color among the shirts in his closet, but shrugged into the one she'd laid out regardless of the offensive hue. Rested neatly below them on the floor were his dress shoes, the pair he hadn't worn since Easter, and they pinched at the toes when he put them on. Before buttoning closed the long sleeves, Zechs reached for his wristbands. An awkward miscalculation of his hand sent one leather strap rolling onto the floor between the mattress and nightstand. Zechs dug a hand down to fetch the wristband out and felt the cool kiss of thin metal and glass across his knuckles.

The edge of the bed tucked up under his knees in a barely controlled fall. The mattress squeaked a protest at the sudden heavy weight. Zechs stared and stared at the delicate wire frames in his hand. Wufei's glasses. _Oh, hell_. A strobe-like flash of memory struck him; his own hand, clumsy and cruel, knocking the frames free of Wufei's face.

"Milli?" His mom's voice floated down the hall and into his stunned disbelief. Zechs flinched, nearly dropping the glasses with his fumble, and hurriedly snapped the leather band into place around his wrist. She knocked. "Are you decent?"

He pocketed the glasses. "Yeah."

Charlotte nudged open the door. She held a small plate in one hand and two white tablets in the other. "Here," she said. "Aspirin and toast. Give me that cup and I'll go get you some water."

"Mom, it's fine."

"You're looking peaky," she said. She came forward and traded the plate for the glass on the nightstand. "Eat up."

The thought of food turned his stomach, but Zechs knew better than to argue. He chewed mechanically and shuddered down toast until, gradually, the pain lessened as the alcohol found something to attack besides him. Charlotte stood over him, her eyes tracking each mouthful and hesitant sip. When he drained the glass she refilled it, and when he emptied the plate she took it away. Her courteous attention made him uneasy.

"The aspirin," she reminded him. Zechs gulped the round tablets. She nodded approvingly. "There, now. Feeling better, sweetie?"

Zechs stood and found his world a bit steadier. "Sure. Thanks, Mom."

"Good. You're welcome." She took his face into her hands, a smooth palm to each cheek. He froze under the gentle touch. The ice blue of her eyes pierced him with a calculating look. "Well," she said. She released him. "Let's get going."

Out in the narrow landing, Charlotte knelt to lift up the welcome mat and replace the spare key. Zechs must have used it to let himself in the night before but had no idea whatsoever where he might have tossed it once inside. She'd found it, apparently. As she shifted to stand, Zechs offered her a chivalrous hand without thinking. Just their old same Sunday routine, the normalcy of it far more unsettling to him than an emotional blow-up fight would have been.

Sunlight heated the interior of Charlotte's sleek little coupe, cherry red and with the big ding across the back bumper. The leather leeched warmth into his back, but he found the stiff air inside suffocating. He batted at the plastic hand-crank until the window lowered.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?" Charlotte twisted the rear view mirror so as to check her makeup. Her mouth worked through a series of puckering gestures until, apparently satisfied with the soft pink of her lipstick, she ceased.

"Did you see anyone else in the apartment?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know. When I was asleep. Was there someone else there?"

Charlotte leveled a disapproving look at him. "Did you have a girl over, Milli?"

Somehow Zechs found the energy to blush. "No," he said shortly. He sunk low into the passenger seat, unable to stop himself from sulking. "Never mind."

The engine turned over after a brief, sputtering protest. Charlotte gripped a hand into the gearshift. "Don't lie to me," she warned.

"I'm not, Mom. I'm not lying. I didn't have a girl over."

She stared at him in silence, weighing the truth out of his protest. Zechs endeavored to look anything less than guilty and found the sea-sick quality of his headache either a help or hindrance; he couldn't decide. He evidently passed inspection, because Charlotte threw the car into motion without further questioning. Zechs rubbed a hand over his eyes, not wanting to see the blur of passing buildings and streets. The rush of cool air coming in from the window felt wonderful.

By some misplaced miracle he made it through the entire service. Starving children in Africa perished, their prayers ignored, so that he could kneel and rise without collapsing. He even managed to mumble some of the right words, or at least enough that Charlotte didn't have to scold with her eyes, like when he was young and forgetful or older and feeling especially surly.

Afterward Charlotte insisted on introducing Zechs to several of her friends and acquaintances. He hammered out the edges from his charming smile to please his mom and found the entire exercise a particular cruelty. The throbbing had returned and intensified despite the aspirin, and behind the curve of his smile Zechs clenched his jaw tight against the pain. She seemed perversely proud to be showing him off; the prodigal son returned. _He was lost, and is found_.

At last Charlotte permitted them to leave. Zechs dragged himself after her and into the car. His exhaustion was complete, body and soul equally worn. The buckle defied his attempts at clasping the flat metal tongue into it. A surge of childish anger nearly set him to screaming, but the mechanism slid easily into place on the next attempt. Zechs drew a long, slow breath to calm himself. _Keep it together, Milli_.

Charlotte hummed an airy rendition of the hymnal to herself on the drive back. Zechs gave up trying to understand her reaction. Sure, he'd gone missing before, for the night at first, and then whole weekends, and then he and the neighbor's cat both came and went like strays. There had been that whole stretch of time he wasted crashed out at Doc's, rather than just go home and say he was sorry. He'd been around during that time, at least. He'd wander in to grab stuff and if she was home they'd renew the fight right where it had last left off until he'd storm out with harsh words. For the first part of it, hell, Zechs had even made appearances at school until the summer started. Pretty sure he bombed the English final entirely, but at least he showed up to stick his name across the top of the test.

So, okay, sure he could see why she might not have been all that worried. This current run, though, the six weeks or whatever he'd spent slumming it with Duo and Quatre without her getting so much as a glance of him heading out the door... Had she worried at all over him? Maybe she'd called his high school, come September, or maybe she'd known that a lost cause considering that whole military academy enrollment. Oh, _damn_. He'd almost forgotten about boot camp. The concern now seemed trivial when stacked against everything else going wrong in his worthless life.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" said his mom.

He must have made some stupid sound of distress, lost in thought as he was. "Nothing," he told her. "I'm fine."

"Are you hungry?"

Zechs was not the least bit enticed by the idea of food. "Sure. I guess. Whatever."

"Do you want to stop somewhere?"

"Mom." Zechs leaned his head into the window. "I just want to go home and go back to bed. Okay?"

"All right, Milli," she said. "But you'll eat first. I'll make some eggs and a bit more toast."

And she did. Zechs sat on the smoke-scented couch and watched her tie an apron over her church clothes with bizarre domesticity. He didn't even know she owned an apron. Charlotte spent the extra time to cook the eggs into pieces of toast, egg-in-a-nest style, and even though they were a bit runnier than he liked, Zechs cleared his plate. He might have been hungry after all. He couldn't remember the last time she'd been so nice to him. He couldn't remember the last time they'd spent so much time in each other's company and not traded vicious words. Zechs couldn't trust the peace, but he was too tired to figure it out. He'd probably wake up in a few hours and discover the whole morning to have been an alcohol-induced nightmare anyway.

"You look so pale," said Charlotte. She'd sat beside him on the couch while Zechs's attention drifted. He started at the sound of her words so close. She felt at his forehead, the tips of her fingers cool against his skin. "Are you coming down with something?"

Zechs flinched away from her hand. "No, Mom. I'm fine. I'm just, whatever. Leave me alone."

The soft rebuke in her eyes nearly undid him. Zechs shifted back into her touch, letting her fingers brush tenderly at the fall of his bangs. Something wet and rough accumulated in the back of his throat. Zechs swallowed the lump and let his eyes fall closed.

"There now," she said quietly. "Everything will be all right. Go lay down and take your nap. We can talk about things later, when you're feeling better."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. _Talk about things_. He could guess what kind of _things_ they had to talk about, and none of them were conversation topics he found suiting. Zechs nodded anyway, bobbing his head in wooden agreement. His mom patted his knee as she stood.

As he trudged down the hall to his room, he heard the familiar sound of her rattling ice out of the freezer and into a squat glass tumbler. That was all right. She probably needed a drink, putting up with him as well as she had. The thought of alcohol turned Zechs's stomach. He felt the weight an insincere vow;_ Dear God, I'll never drink again, just make this go away_. As if he were fifteen again and sneaking bolts from Charlotte's bottles when he thought she wasn't looking. He was older now and maybe not wiser, but at least kept enough dignity to know such promises were useless.

Zechs bundled the periwinkle dress shirt into his empty laundry hamper. As he shucked the pressed khakis free of his thighs, Zechs felt the smallish lump of the almost-forgotten glasses in the front pocket. He carefully set them onto the surface of his nightstand.

Bundled into the blankets, with the pillow lumped up the way he liked, Zechs rolled to stare at the nightstand and its precious adornment. Drowsy exhaustion pulled at him, the dark waves of sleep coaxing at him with the promise of not having to feel or think anymore. Sunlight slanted over the wire frames, setting them to a gleam.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for your kind reviews over the last chapter. I'm sorry this one is short, but the last chapter was nearly twice as long as usual to make up for it.

I'll try to be quick on the next update! Thanks for reading.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	90. Broken

LSC / 09-21-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety: Broken)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 90

**Broken**

* * *

"It'll go faster if we split up," said Duo. He bounced on the balls of his feet with eager, restless energy. Quatre began to second-guess the wisdom in giving his friend espresso. The four of them stepped onto the sidewalk outside Heero's apartment building.

"Fine," said Heero. Quatre meant to check the calendar before they left, to see what scheduled task Heero delayed upon getting dragged into the impromptu search party. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to mind the divergence.

"Tro, you go with Heero. I'll take Quatre. That way no one can get lost."

Trowa and Heero both frowned in near perfect unison. Quatre laughed into the back of his hand, not wanting to seem rude, but the twin expressions struck him as exceedingly comical. Either no one noticed or no one looked at him for it.

Duo took the answering silence as agreement and pointed down the street. "We'll go that way. You guys go the other way. We'll meet back in, like, whatever. An hour, I guess, or however long it takes to loop the neighborhood. Come on, Quibbles." He cuffed Quatre lightly across the shoulder.

Quatre glanced back to check on Trowa, who caught his eye. They swapped a little wave before Quatre hurried to catch up with Duo, who was clipping along at a steady pace. They'd barely gotten around the street corner when Duo barreled into him with an expectant hug. He jerked Quatre's feet off the ground momentarily, not quite strong enough to haul him into a spinning circle but making the effort anyway. Quatre shrieked, torn between laughter and startlement.

"Sorry!" said Duo, who had dissolved into laughter. "I'm just so happy. I'm sure you'd rather be snookering with Trowa, but I wanted to connive you away for myself."

"What? No." Quatre smiled and smoothed down his hair. "I don't mind."

"So I have, like, the best news ever, but I'm almost afraid to tell you because I don't want to jinx it. Here, let's look this way." Duo veered down a narrow alley and dragged Quatre after him. "Watch out for that puddle. It's full of poison. No, I'm kidding; it's probably not poison. Probably. Ew, we should have gone the long way. This is what I get for being efficient."

"Um? Okay," said Quatre. He made a funny sort of hop over the pool of liquid in question.

Duo puffed a cloud of white vapor into the cold air. "How'd it go with Trowa, by the way? I'll assume good since you didn't come home last night. And how red you're turning now," said Duo. He laughed, and so good-natured was his teasing that Quatre smiled through his blush.

"Fine," he said automatically. "Trowa's fine."

"Really? Truly really hundred-percent promise? You did ignore him for, like, ever."

Quatre's face faltered through another smile, this one nervous and hesitant. His heart stuttered into slight panic. "It's fine, Duo. I promise. I just – I got a plan." Quatre winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

Like a bloodhound on a scent, Duo immediately perked up at the mention of a potential secret."Oh, a plan! Tell me all about it, Captain-Q." He gave a jaunty mock salute.

Quatre tossed his head in frantic refusal. Duo frowned at him and, when that didn't work, moved toward an exaggerated pouting. He turned around to stare at Quatre, which required him to backpedal awkwardly over the cracked sidewalk. At last his persistence and the increasing silly expressions set Quatre to laughing.

"Stop it." He bit a smile into Sandy's ear.

Duo uncrossed his eyes and grinned. "So you wanna talk plans? Check this out; Plan B is a total go. Heero's gonna let me hide out with him until I'll just be a crazy legally-independent adult. Fuck you, Department of Children's Health Services. Bitch can't touch this come April. High-five!"

Quatre tapped his hand into Duo's outstretched palm. "Really? That's great, Duo."

"Isn't it? Shit, I shouldn't have said anything. Now I've jinxed it. My luck Heero will fall down the stairs and totally amnesia the entire decision. Orderlies with straightjackets will raid the apartment, SWAT-style. I'll run into Dickie at the grocery store – Oh, fuck, do you think that might seriously happen?"

"I don't think so," said Quatre. "I've never seen Heero take the stairs. He uses the elevator."

Duo ruffled a hand into the soft tumble of Quatre's hair. "You're a silly bunny. Okay, I get it; paranoia in the extreme, right? Whatever. Can't blame a guy for being skeptical. But! I was thinking." Duo interrupted himself to mutter a decision of eeny-meeny-miny-mo between two possible directions. For all Quatre could tell they probably were searching in a rough grid-like pattern, although their path could have been equally circular without him noticing.

They walked a bit further without Duo picking up his previous conversation thread. This wasn't to say he fell silent, however, as Duo instead began on a long-winded commentary on the graffiti blazoned across an abandoned storefront. He affected the guise of a museum curator whose accent vacillated wildly between Italian and French. Abruptly he abandoned the artistic analysis and spoke normally. "Hey, Quatre?"

"Hm?"

"I was thinking you should just stay with us. You know, like you have been, but more permanent. I'll ask Heero. Don't worry, he'll say yes, 'cause who can't just adore you, am I right? Heero's got way more space than he really needs anyway. We could get, like, a folding screen for the corner and make it really seem homey and nice and all. Maybe upgrade to pull-out couch or something. And spare keys. I need to ask him about a key, so the stupid buzzer system won't be an issue. So, yeah! Work that into your plan, I guess."

"Oh," said Quatre. And then again, even quieter than the first time. "Oh. Um, all right."

"Yeah?" said Duo. He fixed Quatre with a persistent sort of look. To forestall further inquiring into the matter of Quatre's master plan, which he entirely regretted even bringing up, Quatre searched wildly for a change of topic.

One appeared as soon as they emerged out from the alley they'd been more-or-less searching. Quatre threw out a hand to point. "Look, there's Trowa and Heero."

"What? No way." Duo followed the line of sight. "Aw, crap. So much for divide and conquer. Hey! Hey, Heero! HEERO!" The makeshift megaphone Duo created out of his own hands seemed unnecessary, given the force at which his lungs operated. The shout carried easily down the street. Immediately in the line of fire, Quatre clapped one hand over his right ear and Sandy over the other. The hard nub of the bear's nose pushed against his temple.

Even at a distance, the scowl on Heero's face was unmistakable. The two search parties deviated from their previous paths to meet in the middle of the street. Once within range of normal volume, rather than shouting, Duo said, "No luck?"

Trowa shook his head. Heero glared at Duo, who merely beamed under the attention as if receiving the tenderest of gazes rather than a furrowed look of displeasure. Maybe he saw something entirely different in Heero's expression, for all Quatre knew. He hugged Sandy up under one arm and smiled at Trowa; he could understand something of how that worked.

"Well, damn," said Duo. He knocked a fist into the other hand, the gesture making a quiet slapping sound. "That sucks. Where the hell could he have gone?"

"Maybe he went back downtown," Quatre said.

Duo twitched a funny look at him, so that Quatre immediately felt foolish for the suggestion. "No," said Duo slowly. "I don't think so. But that's the right line of thinking; I guess there's no reason why he would have slept on the streets since he's savvy enough to find a bed somewhere. What was the name of that shitty ass fucking apartment building-slash-hotel thing? The flophouse we stayed in the, what, third night out on the lamb?"

"Oh," said Quatre. Heat rushed to blossom under his cheeks. He knew precisely what Duo referred to, although admittedly his memories of that place were extremely hazy and not at all pleasant.

Trowa snapped his fingers to draw Duo's attention.

"Yeah?" said Duo. "You remember?"

Trowa nodded.

"Well? What do you think? Worth checking out, at least. It's still early enough, ish, that he might be there. Otherwise we can snoop a look around and, I don't know, CSI long blond hairs off pillows or something."

"Okay," said Quatre. Trowa shrugged his acquiescence. Heero seemed preoccupied with something on the end of Duo's braid; he kept halfway reaching for the flapping chestnut ribbon and then letting his hand drop. As they walked back to the apartment, Quatre let curiosity get the better of him. He dawdled a half-step behind everyone until he could get a look at Duo's braid. Some small bit of paper had gotten trapped in the hair tie.

"Duo. Hey, Duo."

"Yeah?"

Quatre nodded. "You've got something in your braid."

"Is it a spider?" Duo whirled violently, so that his braid sailed into an arc and slapped Heero's arm. "You'd tell me if it was a spider, right? It better not be a spider."

Heero plucked the bit of paper free. "It was not a spider."

"Oh, thank God." Duo threw the back of his hand across his forehead in an exaggerated swooning gesture. "You're a hero, Heero."

When they reached the car, Duo refrained from rushing the front seat as he usually did. He jokingly kept bumping into Heero, blocking his access to the car. Heero failed to look amused as he stepped first to one side and then the other trying to get around Duo. "Oh, excuse me. Pardon me. Oh, so embarrassing, let me – No, sorry," said Duo. He at last laughed and held the door open for Heero.

Duo climbed in on the other side. He stretched his arms up into the air, brushing the roof of the car as he did so. "Man," he gushed. "This is so much more posh than the bus. When're you going to get a car, Heero? I bet if you banged together all the junk under your bed you could make a Franken-car. I mean, it's got to be easier than mechanical brain surgery on a blend. You work on cars all damn day, right?"

Heero frowned. To Quatre it seemed like any other frown that Heero had ever made, but Duo froze like a deer caught in headlights. A terribly awkward silence descended when neither of them said anything. Whatever the downward twist of Heero's brow meant to Duo, it was enough to make him stop talking (at least for a little while) and stare out the window instead.

Quatre thought of several possible things to say but lacked the courage to broach the silence. He pretended to fiddle with the radio instead, as if mesmerized by switching the music from vapid pop to classic rock and back. He finally spun the dial all the way back to Catherine's favorite station and lowered the volume to something just above a background whispering.

"Pretty sure we've gone past this Seven-Eleven before," said Duo.

Trowa shrugged. His hand hesitated over the turn signal as they approached a stop sign. To either side of the car stretched old warehouses and empty buildings that must have once held businesses but now seemed entirely made of broken glass and graffiti.

"Are we lost?" Duo leaned into the gap between the seats. "Tell me we aren't lost."

Trowa wobbled his hand in response. _Maybe_.

"What? Come on. I thought you said you knew where this place was! Great," said Duo. "Whatever. We'll just roll down the window and ask these charming young ladies for directions. Excuse us, mademoiselles, do you per chance know – Christ on crackers, Trowa, do not actually stop the car. Those bitches look like they'd sooner cut you than answer a goddamn polite question." Duo recoiled from the window.

A belabored expression crossed Trowa's face. At the next stop sign he turned left, and the buildings became more residential. A plastic children's tricycle sat overturned in a yard of yellow, neglected grass. Trowa swiveled the car against the curb with practiced ease in front of a squat brick building with an iron gate half-rusted off its hinges. A sign in chipped paint read Overlook Apartments.

"Oh, you found it," said Duo. "Disregard my previous statements."

They all piled out of the car. Trowa swung the car keys around his finger, Catherine's plastic dolphin key chain thwacking into his palm over and over with the gesture. Quatre edged closer to him and bunched Sandy up under his arm. He remembered little of their first and only night at the flophouse, but what he did remember Quatre would have liked to forget. Trowa had even parked the car in about the same place as last time. They'd had that miserable sort of fight, and then—

"Okay," said Duo. "You two stay here and guard the car. Heero and I will go searching."

Quatre blinked at him in surprise. Had his thoughts shown that easily on his face? Duo grinned in return, possibly unaware, possibly not. It was like when they'd all been locked out of Heero's apartment yesterday, and Duo climbed the rickety fire escape by himself without Quatre putting his fears into words. His chest swelled with a rush of fondness for Duo in that moment.

"Ready, 'ro? Get your game face on. Tough guy glare, go!" Duo seemed ready to gloss right over whatever that awkwardness in the car had been about. It was impossible for Quatre to tell if Heero would play along or not; he seemed to run a full-throttle scowl at all times regardless of Duo's prompting.

The two of them disappeared into the building, leaving Trowa and Quatre to stand near the car and wait. Trowa's hand closed over his briefly, and the two of them exchanged smiles.

Trowa set an arm around Quatre's shoulders. A significant amount of time passed in which they just stood together leaned against the hood of Catherine's car. Warmth and comfort settled into him, drawn close against Trowa's side in the companionable silence.

"I hope we find Zechs," said Quatre. "I've been a little worried about him."

Although Trowa had really only been smiling with his eyes, Quatre could detect the subtle shift in his expression. Trowa shrugged, his face now carefully and deliberately blank. It was the sort of emotionless look he gave strangers.

Quatre's stomach flip-flopped. "Oh," he said. "Oh, um."

A smoldering blush began somewhere around the neckline of his shirt and spread up into his cheeks. Quatre tucked his head against Sandy's, scrunching around the bear as if to hide from Trowa's disapproval. He should have known better than say something so inconsiderate, given the circumstances of that fight they'd had after the silly drinking game. He peeked up through his bangs at Trowa with an apology coalescing out of his mortification. "Um," he said again.

Trowa wasn't even looking at him anymore. He'd become focused on something across the street, over Quatre's shoulder. His arm tightened around Quatre, drawing him possessively closer. The concerned gesture set off a flurry of butterflies within Quatre's chest. He turned quickly, to assess the danger.

Nothing seemed out of place to him at first, other than three boys and a girl on the opposing sidewalk. Maybe Trowa was self-conscious about being spotted, but the other kids weren't even looking at their direction. Furthermore it didn't make sense that Trowa would increase the closeness between them if he was worried about attracting attention; they'd blend in more if they weren't cuddled up next to each other (as much as Quatre liked snuggling into Trowa, of course). Quatre hunched his shoulders to slip out from under Trowa's arm. A little space between them seemed prudent.

None of them looked to familiar to Quatre, at least, but he wasn't so vain as to think Trowa didn't have any friends besides him and the others. Surely he must have met people at school, like Quatre pretended to have done, or working at the diner with Catherine. Then again, Quatre considered Catherine's reaction to him popping up in Trowa's life and decided it wasn't too silly to think that Trowa recognizing someone on the street was strange.

One of the boys glanced their way. And then stopped talking, very abruptly, so it became clear that he also recognized Trowa. He veered into the street, approaching them with a swaggering sort of walk that immediately set Quatre's nerves on edge. This was amplified by the tension rolling off Trowa as he stood frozen beside the car. The other two boys followed after him, but the girl kept standing on the opposite sidewalk for several seconds longer.

"Hey," she called. Her voice carried easily.

The boy waved impatiently at her. "Just a second."

She started across after him. "I'm not done talking to you, Trant."

Trowa shifted to put himself between Quatre and the approaching possible-strangers.

"You," the boy said. "Hey, you." The girl had called him Trant. He looked a bit older than Quatre, and a pale line of scar across one cheek forced his features into murky middle ground between attractive and not. The two boys flanking him were similarly hard-looking, older and sharper in the same way that Zechs often looked when compared to Duo or Trowa, even though they were all three about the same age.

The girl coming across the street to join them lacked that certain something. She wore a baggy black hooded sweatshirt over equally spacious black jeans with numerous buckles and straps for, as far as Quatre could tell, no apparent reason. Her dyed-black hair contained streaks of blue.

"Hey," she said. Her words came out from between the generous smacking sound of habitual gum-chewing. "Get the fuck back here or the deal's off. I got other shit to do today."

He ignored her, focusing in on Trowa. "What're you doing here?"

Trowa shrugged as if to say _None of your business_.

"Are you deaf and dumb or just silent and stupid?"

Quatre bristled. How dare he talk to Trowa like that! Certainly they couldn't be friends. Although he still had no idea how he and Trowa knew each other, Quatre instantly felt sheer loathing for the boy. No friend would ever say that about Trowa. If not for the fact Duo and Heero would be stranded, Quatre nearly grabbed Trowa's hand and made a jump for the car so they could drive away.

"Don't say that!" Somehow words sprung from his lips. Quatre hadn't meant for them to. Had he a time machine he would go back three seconds and bite his tongue off rather than speak. Instant regret filled him when _everyone_ looked at his way, even Trowa.

"Or what?" said Trant. He jabbed a finger into Trowa's chest. "The doc ain't here to keep me from kicking your ass."

"Can you do your dick-wagging another time?" said the girl. "Come on, Trant. Whatever lovefest you got planned for the pretty boys here can wait. You and me got business still." She jiggled the cavernous front pocket of her sweatshirt. A faint jostling noise came from within, something that tickled Quatre's ears with familiarity but didn't quite click with any specific memory.

"I don't need you anymore," said Trant. "Not if this big dumb mute knows where that fucking thief's run off to hide."

"Well," said the girl. Her jawed worked the wad of gum in her mouth with vengeance. "I rode the bus all the way down to this shit hole 'hood of yours for nothing, then. That's just fucking great. You're an asshole, Trant."

Trant turned on her so quick that Quatre feared violence. He flinched around Sandy, hitching the bear right up under his chin for comfort. The same thought must have occurred to the girl, or maybe she just possessed lightning-quick reflexes, but whatever the case she stepped back out of range just as Trant's hand jerked. He glared at her, palm still up to strike, but refrained from closing the gap between them to deliver the blow. One of the other boys did it instead, catching her right across the mouth with enough force that the gum came out.

Quatre pressed Sandy closer and closer against the terrible vacuum in his chest, the bear's soft fur tolerating with typical grace the digging grip of his fingers. His heart and lungs fell into the void, so that he both forgot how to breathe and skipped several heartbeats. Trowa brushed a protective arm over Quatre, tucking him further against the car and away from the commotion.

A soft whispering sound, like the wind through summer grass or the hum of a high-powered air conditioner, drowned out all other noise. People were saying things, and Quatre was right there in the middle of it, but he couldn't really hear them. Everyone was angry and wanted answers, but he didn't have any to give. He needed to operate his lungs again. He needed to restart the stuttering thud-thump-thud of his heart. The buzzing grew louder and louder until—

* * *

The guy at the front desk had been possibly the least helpful quasi-employee that Duo had ever encountered. It was, of course, entirely likely the dude just showed up one day and started taking fake names and money. The actual proprietors of the Overlook Apartments might not even be in on the scam. They could be dead. The property could be abandoned. Or the guy just sucked at his job.

Not that Duo really expected anyone to be forthcoming in regards to having seen Zechs. Overlook seemed the sort of place that valued discretion, or at least encouraged blinders. See no, speak, no, hear no sort of agreement among the inhabitants, unspoken but fully acknowledged. Still, he hadn't much else better to do than hunt down the big blonde lug, and the possibility of finding Wufei in the bargain only sweetened the deal.

Heero stared at a mold stain on the hallway wall like it was a psychiatrist's inkblot. Duo thought it looked a bit like a mushroom or maybe a ghost; basically it looked like a mold stain. Normally he might point this out to Heero and think up a hundred other, more clever, Rorschach inspirations, but Duo hadn't found the nerve to say much at all to Heero during their search of the flophouse.

Duo could tell Heero was in a mood. He'd been out of sorts since the car ride over, although typical Heero wouldn't say anything. Duo would probably find some damn list later about it, although for the life of him he couldn't figure out what Heero had to be moody over. He'd already run the entire conversation through a paranoid, Heero-attuned filter and come up with blanks.

"Well," said Duo. He surveyed the length of hallway they'd already covered. "That's it. Top floor done. Guess he's not here and no one's seen him."

Heero shifted his attention from the stain to Duo. There it was again; the tell-tale line between Heero's brows that meant he was thinking way too hard. It meant he was in pain, too, but Duo was pretty sure nothing had injured Heero lately, so the ache had to be purely mental. And probably Duo's fault, judging by the indefinable mood.

"Hey," Duo said. "Million dollars for your thoughts."

Heero frowned. "You do not have a million dollars."

"Yeah, well. I don't have a penny either or I'd make a more reasonable offer. Come on. You're making laser beam eyes at me. What's got you all worked up?"

Heero hesitated, which confirmed for Duo that it was something besides his paranoia, at least. Where anyone else would have demurred with a denial or white lie, Heero fell into a silent panic. He wouldn't ignore a direct question, but he wouldn't lie either.

Duo pressed the advantage. "Heero, spill. Let's hear it. Did I piss you off earlier?"

"No."

"Are you mad now?"

Heero shook his head.

"Okay. So. Then what's got you making laser beam eyes at me?"

"I don't understand."

Duo jerked open the stairwell door. "No. Right. Of course. You don't actually have lasers for eyes. That's just an expression. Look, Heero – if I've fucked up, I want to hear about it, okay? And even if it's not my fault, or whatever, I still want to hear about it."

"It is not important," said Heero.

"Uh-huh. I'll be the judge of that."

Still Heero hesitated, to the point that Duo felt the faint stirrings of dread. "I don't want to upset you," Heero said slowly.

"Well, crap," said Duo. "You're in a Catch-22 then, 'cause I'm going to get pissed if you _don't_ tell me."

"Oh," said Heero. Their sound of their footsteps filled to bursting the narrow stairwell. "All right."

"All right what?"

"You can get mad at me for not telling you."

"Oh, fuck you," said Duo. He tried to sound loving about it, to take the edge off the exclamation. He stopped on the landing and shoved Heero's shoulder. "Really? Really, Heero? You've thought about your options and decided picking a goddamn fight was the best course of action, over just telling me what you're feeling? If we're going to give this whole co-habitation thing a shot you can't – you can't go all incommunicado just for shits and giggles."

"Ah," said Heero. So distinctly that Duo felt like a mind reader for understanding what he meant by the single, lonely sound.

"Oh, shit," he said. "No, no, no. You can't. You're thinking you made a mistake last night, agreeing to this." The words came out between grit teeth. Duo was trying his very best not to just push Heero down the remaining three flights of stairs. For starters it wouldn't accomplish much, unless he fulfilled his earlier prophecy to Quatre and made Heero amnesia out the entire discussion. Although, depending on how that went, it could work out in his favor.

Heero looked away, probably overwhelmed with a guilty conscience like no-good liar that he was.

"What'd I do wrong? Am I too happy now, is that the problem? You freak out when I get mopey, you freak out when I get chipper – what the fuck, Heero? Aren't I allowed to be a goddamn human being? Just because you run at one constant wavelength of flat emotion doesn't mean everyone else has to. I'm not being manic today, okay? I'm just in a good mood. I _was_ in a good mood because of _you_. God! Why do you have to always ruin everything? I _told_ Quatre this was going to happen. I told him being happy would jinx things."

"Don't be upset," said Heero. "This is why I didn't want to say anything."

"Oh, no, you just wanted to sit there analyzing me like a bug under a microscope! What were you going to do; write me a note? Duo – you're too crazy, the deal's off. Sincerely, Heero."

"I didn't say that. I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't do that to you." Heero spoke quicker than usual, almost running over his own sentences in backpedaling haste. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd be upset."

"Damn right I'd be upset!" The screeching quality of his voice reverberated nastily off the bare concrete walls. Duo drew a deep breath and made a conscious effort to calm himself, at least slightly, before he proved Heero's point for him. He whirled around and started down the stairs with loud, forceful stomps.

Heero followed after him. "Duo, wait."

"Fuck off. I'm feeling murderous and I bet no one would care if I broke your neck on these goddamn stairs. They'd just think it was an accident. You probably wouldn't even be the first dead body to take a tumble down them."

"Duo." It sounded almost like a plea. Heero caught his arm on the next landing. Duo jerked free and, with a sickening lurch, overbalanced completely. He would have gone smashing straight to the bottom if not for Heero's quick reflexes. They danced awkwardly around the constricted space of the landing for an equilibrium, and then Duo ended up clasped tight to Heero in what felt suspiciously like a hug.

"Duo, please," he said. The words rumbled into Duo's ear in a shivering sort of way. "You're not being fair."

"_You're_ not being fair," Duo muttered.

"I know," said Heero. "But I meant what I said last night. I—" He broke off, oddly incoherent.

Duo pulled away enough to get a good look at Heero's expression. The squiggly line between his brows was back, worse than ever. Heero looked truly distressed, so much so that Duo immediately regretted blowing up and speaking harshly to him. His anger dissolved into fond affection.

"Okay. It's okay, Heero. I don't really want to murder you and throw your body down the stairs. I just – it's just. Argh, okay. Whatever. Let the other shoe drop. That's karma for you. Come on, Heero. Let's get out of here. We'll talk it out later, I guess. Or never. Fuck, I don't know."

"I didn't mean to make you mad," said Heero. He trailed after Duo on the stairs like a whipped puppy, so that Duo felt like a bully.

"I know you didn't. Sorry for yelling at you." Duo hopped the last two steps to the final landing. Just within sight now was the propped open backdoor to the place. A slice of sunlight filtered through the gap.

Floating through the air was a faint sound. It tickled at the threshold of being audible only because of the lack of their footsteps. Heero started to take a step, and Duo shushed him urgently. The sound soared into spine-tingling clarity.

Duo threw himself straight from the landing to the ground floor, hard and fast enough that he crashed to an all-fours sprawl before bouncing upright. Behind him Heero gave a short outcry, but Duo was out the door between one heartbeat and the next.

He could very easily be overreacting. There were hundreds of reasons to be hearing screaming in a neighborhood such as this. A little old lady getting mugged, small children dragged into sewer drains by insane clowns, a drive by shooting; Duo would be thrilled to get around the side of the building and find any of those scenarios. Unfortunately being outside only lifted the volume on the already ear-piercing wails and the added amplification only served to reassure Duo he was probably right.

A truly chaotic scene greeted Duo once he got around to the street. There was Quatre, wailing his poor fucking head off just as he feared, and some Smurf-haired girl pretty close by with her hands up in the universal _I didn't do it _denial. It seemed a legitimate claim considering the nearby brawl already resolving itself as Duo pounded toward them at a dead run. The remaining strangers, three punk-ass teens with mugs just as ugly as the next, broke into _Oh-shit_ retreat by the likely prompting of Quatre's desolation. Their hasty flight left Trowa free to get at Quatre.

Duo reached him at about the same time as Trowa. "Fuck!" He gasped the curse out from around panting heaves to catch his breath. Quatre had his head down and was locked tight around his bear, right until Duo made the mistake of reaching for the kid's arm. He was only trying, same as Trowa, to shake Quatre free of his panic. Quatre recoiled with such violence that Duo immediately surrendered the effort.

"I didn't touch him!" said the girl. She shouted to be heard over Quatre's keening.

Heero caught up with him, tumbling to a halt with a hand on Duo's arm as a brake. Duo realized he probably should have given some explanation before hauling off like a bat out of hell. "What is it?" said Heero. "What's wrong?"

Duo shook his head, miserably unable to explain what he didn't really understand anyway. He had no idea what had set Quatre off, but he did know that Quatre only ever stopped screaming when they tranq'd him. Duo highly doubted the Head Nurse was going to come strolling out of the flophouse with her syringe at the ready with a high dose of chill-the-fuck-out juice.

"Quatre. Quatre," came a voice. It was low and husky, smooth like velvet even with the jolting notes of anxiety spiking the syllables of the kid's name. Duo looked immediately to Heero, and then, when his mouth wasn't moving, the girl. Confusion overpowered all other emotions.

"Quatre, I'm right here. Quatre!" said… _Trowa_. Duo stared at him in absolute shock, but Trowa was (understandably) completely focused on pleading Quatre out of his panic. He'd gotten hold of Quatre's thin shoulders despite the boy's frantic efforts to the contrary.

Amazingly it seemed to work. Quatre sucked in air on the cusp of bursting into another length of shrieking and then simply froze. His aquamarine eyes were blown-open and huge, hardly focused, and he gaped up at Trowa in stretching silence. "You're okay," Trowa said swiftly. The rare sound of his voice was impossibly gentle. "Quatre, you're okay."

Quatre went chalk-white. Duo knew what was going to happen a heartbeat before it actually did. He started forward just as Quatre's eyes rolled back, but the kid couldn't go far with Trowa already holding on to him. Quatre slipped into a boneless collapse. Trowa took the boy's weight easily, and only once he had Quatre hefted securely did Trowa finally return Duo's flabbergasted stare.

"Trowa," Duo said. And then he had to pause, utterly at a loss for words. "You, uh. Holy shit."

Something between stunned disbelief at his own action and terror over Duo's reaction clashed across Trowa's face. He looked like some terrorist victim, all shell-shocked and pale. The comparison was only made stronger by the dribbling smear of blood under his nose; one of the punks must have gotten him in the fight. He snuffed awkwardly in an attempt to quell the bleeding.

"Holy shit," said Duo again. "Trowa. I don't believe it."

"Hey," said the girl. She lacked the tact not to interrupt such a monumental occasion as Trowa never-fucking-says-a-word Barton breaking his infamous vow of silence. Then again, Duo had to admit that, in all fairness, she couldn't possibly understand. She stuffed both hands into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt and looked at Trowa. "Thanks for helping me out. Is your friend, uh, okay?"

Trowa shrugged, which was exceptionally awkward considering he still held Quatre. Duo took a measure of calming normalcy from the nonverbal response. Trowa stepped toward the car. He shifted Quatre's weight slightly, first one way and then the other, before sighing. "Duo," he said. The sound sent a chill over Duo's spine. Maybe he'd actually fallen back in the stairwell and this was all an extremely surreal near-death experience. "Will you open the door?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure." Duo sprang forward to grab the handle. "Sure, Trowa. Anything you say."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading. I'm already hard at work on the next chapter. I look forward to hearing from you! Until next time.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	91. Talking it Out

LSC / 09-24-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-One: Talking it Out)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 91

**Talking it Out**

* * *

People were talking. Quatre could hear them, from the distant place he'd gone. Like swimming through pudding, he batted close to the edge of consciousness. Someone was holding him. He felt denim beneath his cheek and a hand wrapped over his shoulder as if to keep him in place.

"How do you know Trowa?" It sounded like Duo, all edgy and wound up tight.

"I don't. I barely knew that asshole Trant. I have no idea what the fuck is going on here." That was a girl's voice, bright and feminine despite the vulgarity.

"Who the hell is Trant?"

"He knows Zechs," said another voice, quite close. It sounded exactly like Trowa, which simply could not be the case, and the pleasant grey-floaty-sensation vanished between one stuttering heartbeat and the next. A soft sound of distress poured out from around the tender soreness in his throat. He didn't want some _stranger_ holding him.

The delicate touch of fingers against his brow made him flinch. "Quatre?" said the not-Trowa. Quatre forced himself to be still.

"Fucking Zechs! When I get my hands on him, oh man."

"Hey. By Zechs you mean a tall guy, blond Herbal Essences kinda hair down to here, always got some sad puppy look to him?" said the girl.

"More like mad dog but, yeah. How the hell do _you_ know Zechs?" It had to be Duo talking. There was no way for Quatre to mistake his friend's voice.

"Quatre, it's all right. You can wake up now. Everything's okay," said Trowa.

Since Duo was definitely somewhere near, Quatre had no choice but to believe it really was Trowa with him. Duo wouldn't let some stranger hold Quatre close like this, or stroke his hair so tenderly. He fluttered open his eyes and felt immediate relief at seeing Trowa gazing down at him with heavy concern.

"Oh," breathed Quatre.

"Are you all right?" asked Trowa.

Quatre took a moment to answer. His eyes drifted from Trowa's face and over the rear of Catherine's car. He was laid out across the backseat and mostly pillowed into Trowa's lap. The backdoor sat propped open, letting in both a cool breeze and faintly warm sunlight. Quatre tipped his head back to see outside the car and, when that only made things upside down and dizzy, shifted to pull himself upright.

"Hey, kiddo." Duo leaned into the car. The suddenness of his appearance gave Quatre a start. "How're ya feeling? You okay?"

"Um, I." Quatre swallowed. "I think so."

"Heero." Duo swiveled his attention around. "Heero, you see that mini-mart up the street? Go run and buy Quatre a bottle of water or something. Oh. Uh, don't literally run! It's not that urgent. Goddamn, look at him go."

"Oh, no", said Quatre. "It's fine." Even as he tried to protest, the words came out dry and raspy. It served to completely undermine his argument. He arranged himself into the actual seat rather than remain draped across Trowa's lap. A shadow passed over his eyes, come and gone in a sickeningly lurch. He must have swayed, with the careful way Trowa set a hand against his back.

"Easy. Do you need to lay back down?"

"No, it's fine."

"If you feel dizzy, you should lay down."

"Really, Trowa. I'm fine." Quatre did feel a bit shaky, but now that he'd insisted otherwise enough times he wasn't going to admit it.

"If you're sure." Trowa searched over his face with such doubt that Quatre wondered what he must look like.

"I'm sure," he said.

"Uh," said Duo. He was staring at them very intently. That puzzled Quatre briefly, until the explanation clicked into place. He instantly felt like an idiot, especially considering all his disconnected thoughts of not-Trowa on the way up from unconsciousness. Quatre felt an embarrassed flush begin at his neck and start upward into the roots of his hair. He reached for Sandy, wanting to mash at the bear's stuffing to relieve the prickling anxious feeling, and came up with nothing. Quatre ransacked the backseat of the car with his eyes.

"So," came the girl's voice. She popped into view behind Duo. "You need any, like, chill pills or whatever? 'Cause I got you covered, if that's the case."

"What? No." Duo aimed a grimace at her. "Ugh, no wonder you know Zechs. Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Me?" She blinked khol-rimmed eyes at him. "I'm Marcy."

"Um, Trowa." He whispered, for whatever stupid reason. "Trowa... Where's, um? Where's San—my, um, m-my—" Quatre didn't want to say it, not with a stranger so close, and also because admitting aloud he couldn't find Sandy would only tip him into a full-scale panic.

Trowa seemed to understand at once. "Don't worry. He's here somewhere. I'll look. Stay here." He pressed a hand to Quatre's shoulder, as if he entertained the idea of getting up out of the seat. Quatre nodded and knotted his fingers together. Trowa nudge Duo aside and got out of the car.

"Marcy," repeated Duo. He glanced briefly at Trowa before refocusing on her. "Okay. How do you know Zechs?"

She shrugged. "I don't, really. One of my roommates does. Or, two of them do," she said with a laugh. "Three of them, I guess."

"Oh, shit," said Duo. "You mean Wufei."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, fuck me." Duo marveled at her. "Do you live around here?"

"Hell no. Fuck this place. I'm sticking to my WASP-y suburban idyll from now on, too, you better believe it. That asshole Trant was supposed to – Never mind." She gaze stuck on Trowa as he moved past her.

Quatre had climbed around to see out the rear windshield of the car, and his heart soared up into his throat when Trowa bent down suddenly to seize Sandy up out of the grass. Unfortunately Marcy had noticed this as well, and she quirked a puzzled brow at the sight of the teddy bear. "That's cute," she observed. "Is it yours?"

Duo broke in on the defensive, seeking to distract her. "Hey, you, what was it – Marsha."

"Marcy."

"Sure. Look, whatever . How about we give you a ride home, then?"

"Uh-huh. Me, get into a car with three—No, four," she amended, as Heero came around the corner. "Strange boys from a shitty ghetto 'hood. That's just asking to be the victim of some weird gangbang fiasco. No thanks."

Quatre pounced on Sandy when Trowa returned to the car. "Thanks," he said quietly. He set about to picking dirt and grass and things from the plush fur.

"Hey, we're harmless," said Duo. "Look, I'll show you. Heero, Heero get over here."

"I have the water," said Heero. Trowa leaned out of the car to take it from him.

Duo grabbed Heero's arm and jerked him close. He pressed to Heero in a passionate kiss. There was a slight delay in which Heero failed to react, but then he ran a caress up the length of Duo's arms and into the base of his braid. The perplexed look on his face when Duo broke free struck Quatre as somewhat amusing.

The girl lifted both brows in a silent _Wow_ kind of gesture. "Well," she said. "Point taken. Let's roll."

"No," said Trowa. He shot Duo a careful look. "I'm taking Quatre home."

"Trowa, no," said Quatre, in almost exact harmony with Duo. Bolstered by the quiet apprehension in Trowa's eyes, Quatre continued his protest. "It's fine, really. We can take her home first."

"Yeah, Trowa. Where's your sense of chivalry?" Duo seemed thrown by the concept of having an actual _conversation_ with Trowa and compensated with almost hostile nonchalance. Tension sparked between them at the unresolved issue of Trowa talking.

Quatre took the bulk of the blame for himself, since he must have been the reason for Trowa to break. He should have at least feigned surprise upon waking to the sound of Trowa's voice. He'd simply forgotten about it. Quatre hunched over Sandy with a stab of guilt-laced misery.

Trowa rubbed a hand over the bowed line of Quatre's shoulders. He leaned close and whispered so the others couldn't hear. "Are you really all right? It's okay if you aren't. You can tell me. Quatre, you fainted. And before that you were—" An expression of pain crossed Trowa's face. "Here, drink the water at least."

Quatre submitted meekly to being coddled as Trowa unscrewed the plastic cap from the bottle before handing it over. "I'm fine," he mumbled. Quatre's cheeks heated at the mention of … He chugged cold water over the raw dryness in his throat.

As Trowa fussed over him, Duo kept talking with Marcy. Quatre knew exactly why Duo wanted them to drive her home, and it wasn't for any sense of doing a good deed. He just wanted at Wufei's address. That was fine, since Quatre certainly liked Wufei, but he was disappointed Duo didn't instead press her for information on Zechs. He really though they'd been looking for Zechs out of friendly concern, but now Quatre realized that Duo merely took the mercenary approach to find Wufei instead.

"So we're his friends," Duo was saying to her. "I'm Duo, this is Heero. Those two are Trowa and Quatre. I'm kind of his bestie anyway. Wufei, I mean."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Explains why I've never met you. I figured Zechs was his _only_ friend."

"Why would you think that?"

She rustled through the pocket of the hoodie before pulling free a new piece of gum. Her jaw worked it into a soft lump with practiced ease. "'Cause," she said, "he's the one always calling and coming by the house and shit. Plus there's the way Treize goes on about him."

"Yeah, well," said Duo. He wavered on the edge of being insulting. Duo forced a smile instead. "Wufei's more popular than you give him credit for."

"Yeah. That's surprising."

Trowa hovered nervously as Quatre switched from the back seat to the front. He wasn't sure what Trowa expected him to do, maybe faint again, but once Quatre got buckled into place he seemed relieved. Trowa crossed around to the driver's side while everyone else piled into the back, with Duo squished into the middle seat.

Marcy looked warily at Heero on the opposite side of the car before shifting her gaze to Trowa. "I think the fact I'm going along with this says more about my own laziness than your trustworthiness."

"We're angels," said Duo.

"Whatever. It's 5124 Columbus Avenue. Do you know where that is?"

Trowa shook his head. Marcy leaned forward to give directions which were unintelligible to Quatre, but must not have been to Trowa. He nodded a few times and pulled the car away from the curb.

"So, whatever. You know Wufei. I'm betting you're not schoolmates, either. Great, Marcy. Get into a car with a bunch of certifiables."

Duo, as the self-appointed spokesperson for the group, chuckled uncomfortably at her joke. "Something like that," he agreed. "What about you?"

"Yeah, right. I'm just trouble." She flipped a lock of shoddily dyed hair behind her ear.

Duo kept up a fairly steady stream of more-or-less polite conversation for the rest of the ride, interrupted only by Marcy making a few corrections to Trowa's course through the city. She insisted on being more Treize's friend than Wufei's, which made sense to Quatre once he considered it. She, in fact, called Wufei somewhat a pain and said he was stuck up. Duo bristled noticeably at the unflattering description, but clearly let it slide in order to keep on her good side.

The halfway house that Wufei lived in turned out to be in a nice and quiet neighborhood. Duo marveled over the fact, prompting Marcy to laugh quietly. "Yeah, pretty sure the local Homeowner's Association hates it. The tan one there with the basketball goal, at the end of the cul-de-sac. That's it."

Trowa parked in the street behind a shabby hatchback with university football stickers over the back glass. A boy stood in the driveway dribbling a basketball with single-minded determination. He abruptly shot the ball at the goal. It rebounded off the backboard and returned to him with precision.

"Well, thanks for the lift." Marcy popped open the door.

"Hey," said Duo. He flashed her a charming grin. "You mind telling Wufei we're here once you get inside?"

"Sure, whatever. I'm always the fucking messenger. At least Zechs is always good enough to tip for my services. We'll call this payment for the ride, I guess. Chivalry really is dead." She slammed the car door with a bit more force than necessary.

* * *

All in all it had not been one of Marcy's better mornings. She was a glass half-full kind of girl in any case, so at least it hadn't been a boring adventure into the slums. As she crossed the driveway, Marcy slapped the basketball out from Rickie's hands. It rolled toward the street with him waddling after.

Courtney, the staff on duty, looked up from her spot on the sofa when Marcy came inside. Stretched out studying on the floor was her bunkmate Deb, a bitch wound tighter than a spring and annoyingly Sandra Dee-wholesome. They exchanged mutual sneers of dislike. How a girl like her ended up living in a place like this bemused Marcy. Deb wasn't psycho like Wufei, who at least had a legitimate excuse for being hard to get along with, and he was actually pretty fun a third of the time. Deb went back to her books and Marcy moved down the hall toward the back half of the house.

She found Delaney at the kitchen counter slapping a peanut butter sandwich together. "Hey."

"Hey." He licked the knife clean and chucked it toward the sink.

"Seen Wufei?"

"Guess he's upstairs." Delaney neglected to put the twist-tie back on the bread. Marcy didn't say anything because she knew it would piss Deb off something wicked when she noticed.

"Thanks. Very helpful. I'll go look," she said. Behind her, Delaney made a non-committal sound of agreement. Marcy hiked up the stairs two at a time.

The door to Wufei and Delaney's room was shut. Marcy rapped her knuckles across the wood, and then, when she didn't get a response, cracked the door open. "Hello?" she said. She stuck her head through the resulting gap. "Anyone home?"

The crammed together arrangement of furniture pretty much matched her and Deb's setup, minus all the girly shit. Marcy dragged her gaze over the twin desks, the dresser, and then settled on the boys' bunks. She nearly turned to leave, thinking Wufei must be elsewhere in the house, but something lured her further into the room. Wufei typically kept his half of the arrangement pretty neat, including the bed, so she found the lump of blankets suspicious.

"Hey. Wufei," she called, louder.

The lump stirred. Wufei had somehow gotten himself wrapped up into a ball with every shred of bedding he owned as a shield between him and the outside world. He spoke from within the tangle, voice muffled. "Go away."

"Uh," said Marcy. Now that she considered it, there was really no way for her to know if Wufei was _really_ Wufei. It could be Treize, who more the sort to sleep in or sulk or whatever this whole cocoon thing was about. "It's me, Marcy. There's someone here to see you."

The boy's face appeared in a startling flurry of motion. He bolted upright, shedding blankets and pillows. "Is it Peacecraft?" he asked in a rush. He kept one pillow clutched to his chest.

"Who?" Marcy stared without trying to be obvious about it. The boy's long, dark hair fluffed around his head in an out of control dandelion, in contrast to its usual glossy curtain or tight bundle. The lack of glasses exposed a nasty blue-black shiner on the crest of his cheek. Red blotches, suspiciously like from crying or something, stood out against the otherwise shock-white of his face.

"Ah," he said. His eyes worked at her, trying to squint together a focus. "Zechs."

"Oh, no. Not him."

"Oh." He deflated like a sad, defective balloon, face-first into the pillow.

"It's your other friends. Or, I don't know, that's what they said. Four guys, all kinda good-looking. One's got this braid. What's … Leo, or, no—Duo."

Wufei – she was pretty damn sure it was really him – shrugged the blankets back up over his head as he curled down into the bed.

"Don't you want to go downstairs and say hi, at least?"

"No."

Marcy hesitated, torn between minding her own fucking business and a terrible curiosity. "What happened to your face? Delaney didn't knock your lights out or anything, did he?"

"No. Get out."

"All right, whatever." She slammed the door behind her, just because. Marcy pounded down the stairs, passing Delaney on the way. "He's in your room," she warned him.

"Oh. Damn," said Delaney. He turned around and followed her into the living room instead. The only bunkmates who actually got along were Rickie and Isaac, who held a part-time job and volunteered with some church group and therefore was never around. Also Rickie was doped into such a stupor you could pretty much do or say anything to him without repercussion. It infuriated Marcy to no end that theirs was the technical master bedroom on the first floor, relegating everyone else to the cramped upstairs bedrooms.

"Going outside," called Marcy as she passed through the living room once more.

"Where?" asked Courtney.

"Just into the yard. I'll be right back." Behind her, Delaney and Deb began an argument over the television remote.

The boys from earlier were still parked in the street. Marcy marched up to the green sedan and made the universal _roll-down-your-window_ gesture. The bouncy one with the braid obliged her. She considered telling the truth, that unless the four of them could magic pretty boy Zechs into existence visiting hours were over, but she chose a well-intended lie instead. She couldn't really say why she did it, other than genuine loyalty to Treize, who amused the hell out of her. She hated being bored.

"Yeah. Sorry," she said. "Wufei's not home."

"What do you mean? Is he missing?" asked Duo, possibly Leo.

"No. Why the hell would you think that?"

"No reason," he said. "But I mean you did see him earlier, right? He came home last night and everything?"

Marcy tried not to let her surprise show. She chewed her gum into the other side of her mouth. "Well, yeah. Of course. He, uh. Went for a walk. Like an hour ago. There's a park between here and the school. He probably went there. Or maybe not, I don't know. Look, call him later or come back by or, just, whatever. But we're even now, okay? I'm done playing messenger."

"Sure," said Duo. She was pretty sure he'd said his name was Duo. He had a cute face, heart-shaped with startling violet eyes and a mouth well used to smiling. He probably never tolerated a dull moment, either; she could tell that about him. Too bad he was gay for the scowling hunk.

Marcy turned to leave, but he called after her. "Hey, wait. I don't have the phone number for here. What is it?"

She told him. "Need me to write it down, or can you remember it?"

"Nope. In one ear, out the other. My mind's like cheesecloth. Heero's got it, though. His is like a steel trap. Thanks, Marcy."

"Whatever." She waved them off and went back inside. Deb must have lost the television war with Delaney, because she and all her books were gone from the living room. Delaney had it on some sports game, which did not appeal to her in the least, so Marcy headed upstairs.

Normally she'd go into her room and do something obnoxious until Deb blew a gasket, or maybe take a walk herself and do a little entrepreneuring. It was close enough to lunch that she could go bug Courtney into making something for the whole house, since that was likely to end with a small-scale fire and delivery pizza. Hell, Marcy even had homework she might consider doing – Mrs. White lacked the common sense not to assign open topic essays, and Marcy needed to think up the most potentially offensive persuasive argument possible to take advantage of that fact. She had a lot of possibly entertaining things to do, but that stupid sense of loyalty to Treize made her instead go check back in with the sulking blanket-cocoon that was Wufei.

Marcy didn't bother to knock. She did close the door after her, in case Delaney came wandering up or anything. "Hey. Your friends left," she told the curled up ball of bedding.

Only silence came as an answer.

"So, they seemed nice." She crossed to the bed and leaned a hand into the railing of the top bunk. "But I told them you weren't home. Figured that was a bit more polite than saying, 'Fuck off, Wufei doesn't want to see you.'"

"Please leave," he said. By the smothering quality of his voice, Wufei probably had his face buried into one of the pillows.

"Wufei," she said. Marcy tore her molars into the gum until they ached. "Look, I know we're not tight or anything, so, I guess it's weird of me to be asking – but you want to talk? About whatever. I'm pretty good at listening. I listen to Treize all the time, even though mostly all he wants to talk about is Zechs."

The blankets shifted like some faded floral-print monster rising out of hibernation. Rather than make an appearance, however, Wufei seemed to be curling tighter. From within the tangle of fabric came a soft hitching sound, wet and vulnerable. Marcy felt pin-pricks of sympathy bloom deep within her chest.

"Hey," she said. She sat on the edge of the lower bunk and shook a random section of the balled up bedding. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk," said Wufei. By the sound of it, he was definitely crying under all the blankets.

"Okay, well. You might feel better if you do. How about you start by telling me what happened to your face, yeah? If someone's beating you up—"

"It's not that." Wufei appeared out of the bundle, peeking just under the edge of a blanket. His eyes had a fresh ink look to them, trembling on the cusp of further tears but dry for the moment. "I just walked into something."

"That's, like, domestic abuse excuse 101."

"It's the truth. It was dark, and I couldn't see."

"What were you doing wandering around in the dark?"

Wufei scrubbed his cheek into the pillow and then winced, clearly having forgotten about the bruise despite it being the current topic of conversation. He peered up at her from the bed with the same unfocused attempt as from before. "Nothing. That is, I was just – I snuck out last night. I was trying to get back in. I walked into the porch column, I think. It was dark."

"You snuck out?"

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I am. Where did you go?"

The waterworks made an attempt at returning. Wufei quelled them with a visible shudder. "It is a long story," he said stiffly.

"So?" Marcy shrugged. "I got shit else to do today."

Wufei lifted a hand up to his face and knuckled at his eyes. Marcy let out a low whistle, making him flinch his arm back into hiding within the blankets. "Did your wrists walk into a pole, too?" she accused. "All right, sit up. Let me get a look at you. Now you're going to have to tell me what happened."

She bullied him enough that Wufei reluctantly came to join her sitting on the edge of his bed, rather than stay hidden in his blanket cocoon. The contusions encircling his wrist and the bashed up cheek looked to be the worst of it, until Marcy caught sight of fainter red marks disappearing under the collar of his shirt. She pulled aside his hair and found a bright, ugly blotch that looked suspicious like a love-bite on his neck. Literally a bite, judging from the barely perceptible ridges.

"Goddamn," she said.

Wufei drew one of his blankets around his shoulders, so that he looked like some trauma victim sitting on the back deck of an ambulance in a cop drama. "Is it that noticeable?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, have you see yourself in a mirror yet?"

He shook his head. "I can't see anything anyway. Not without my glasses."

"Put them on and go look, seriously. You look beat to shit. Look, Wufei. Do you need me to call the cops or something?"

"No." Wufei's fingers clutched at the hem of the blanket until the knuckles went white. "It's nothing like that. He didn't – it's not like that."

"Who?"

Wufei swallowed. "Peacecraft. I'd went to see Peacecraft last night."

"Who… Oh, fuck. Zechs? _Zechs_ did this to you?" Marcy was going to kick the shit out of the pretty boy's shins next time she saw him.

"No, he – Ah, yes. I suppose…" Wufei self-consciously touched at his neck, feeling for the red mark. "I don't think he… It wasn't like he... It was a mistake."

"A mistake? How could... Okay, let's start over. What were you doing sneaking out to see Zechs in the middle of the night in the first place? Are you two dating or something?"

"No. Maybe. No... Ah, I don't think so. I don't know. I really _don't_ know," Wufei repeated miserably.

Marcy opened her mouth to call bullshit, and then promptly clapped her trap shut as Wufei's faltering denial sunk fully into place. Her brain worked for a moment, all rusty gears sticking to this convoluted multiple-personality nonsense. She'd had a laugh when the staff held a small meeting to prep everyone for their new extravagant housemate, the day before Wufei moved into the halfway house. Mike had called her out on it, too, the no-fun prick that he was – _Be nice, Marcy. Try to make him feel welcomed._

_You should give him three times the amount of chores_, she'd responded. And kept making similarly themed jokes until she got sent to her room. _Sucks to be you_, she'd said to Zechs on the occasion of their first meeting. He'd been with Treize then, taking him out on some date, but it had been Wufei the next morning with the hangover. He'd been the one who gave her the cigarettes as thanks for helping him dodge curfew, and he was the one Zechs always asked for on the telephone.

Marcy shook her head. "What makes you say that?"

"Nothing, I guess. Oh, no, that's not true... It's everything and nothing both. There's just this feeling I get whenever I'm with him, like there's something I'm missing. But he likes Treize. He told me he didn't, but that was a lie. Or he's lying to Treize, I'm not sure which. That's my fault, though. I asked him to do it."

"Asked him to do what?"

"Date Treize. It's a terribly long story." Wufei sighed. "They were together at the hos—just, well, _before_, but I told him to stop, and he was rather nice about it afterward. Not right afterward, of course, but that was my fault as well for insulting him … Oh, this won't make any sense to you. I'm sorry."

"Uh, it's okay," said Marcy. "It doesn't matter I guess. So you snuck out to see Zechs and, what, things just escalated?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I don't know what happened, why he – I told him that he was making a mistake, but he was so... He'd been drinking... He seemed so sad about it. I just wanted to..." Wufei hunched over his knees, face buried into his arms. "I don't know what to do."

"Wufei... Hey. Come on. Don't cry."

"I'm not crying," he snapped. Evidence to the contrary clumped his eyelashes with moisture as he shifted to glare up at her.

Marcy shrugged. "Okay. You can, if you need to. I mean, cool by me. My last boyfriend was a total jerk, but you better believe I went totally weepy over him when we broke up."

"I didn't break up with Peacecraft. We're just friends."

"I thought you said you didn't know."

Wufei couldn't come up with a response to that. She saw him wrestle around for one, brow twisting as he wavered on the verge of a snappish comeback. Marcy nudged him with her elbow. "Seriously, cheer up. Don't let a guy get you down like this. You should be angry at him. Royally pissed off, I'd think. I mean, calling it a mistake or whatever is bullshit. I guarantee you even Treize is going to be pissed when he hears, yeah?"

"Do not tell Treize," said Wufei. "Please don't tell Treize. Do not tell _anyone_. Please, Rabinowitz."

For one glorious hellmaker moment, Marcy entertained the idea of forever lording such a secret over Wufei. She'd never again have to help do dishes or load laundry, or, no – better idea, her homework. But damn her squishy heart, and damn Wufei for looking so desperate and broken. "Only if you stop calling me Rabinowitz. I fucking hate it."

"Ah," he said. "I can agree to that. Thank you."

"Sure," said Marcy. "Whatever. You should put some ice on that shiner, you know."

Wufei lifted a hand to his face, fingers stopping a breath shy of the bruise on his cheek. "Does it really look that bad?"

"Yeah, kinda. Go look at yourself in the mirror."

"I told you, it doesn't matter. I can't see much without my glasses."

"Well. Where are your glasses?"

Wufei shrugged. "At Peacecraft's, I think. I couldn't find them after, ah… I left rather quickly. I didn't want to get caught by his—by the staff. Sneaking back in. I thought I had a back-up pair here, but I remember now that I – that they broke. I'll just tell Noin I lost them. Unless Peacecraft… Well. I need ones anyway. I suppose I'll wait a few days until … this goes away." He gestured vaguely, either meaning the bruise or hickey or both.

"That's stupid," said Marcy. "Call her, like, today. Or tomorrow. I guess your face might look better in the morning. For the other stuff you can just wear a turtleneck. Hell, you know what, I bet a little dab of concealer will do wonders for that bruise anyway. Wait here." She ducked her head to avoid catching it on the top bunk as she stood.

"No, that's—" Wufei started to say, but she was already out the door. It didn't take her long to ransack the equipment she needed out of her makeup case, but then she changed her mind, dumped everything back into it, and brought the whole damn thing. Wufei sat right where she'd left him, and picked up his protest as soon as she burst back into his room. "Really, Rab—Marcy. You don't need to—"

"Nonsense. We'll just see how this looks, okay?" She sat down on the bed and flipped open the heavy metal clasps to her case. A tumbling assortment of day-glo eyeshadow from her scene days fell to the side as she dug down for the small silver compact that had been a promo freebie at some mall makeup counter. She pulled it free and set it to the side.

Wufei submitted to her careful wielding of cover-up with a grumbling last-minute, "Really, there's no need for this."

He winced when she touched at the tender, swollen flesh with an applicator sponge. "Sorry. It'll be over quick. Almost got it. It's looking really good."

"I don't want to look like I'm wearing makeup."

"Honey, the whole point of this stuff is to look like you're not wearing it, trust me. This is about as Mary Kay vanilla as you can get. Although if you do want some wicked Cleopatra eyes just let me know. I can arrange that."

"No. I do not think that is necessary…" Wufei squinted at the round compact mirror when she popped it open in front of him. He took it from her and brought it within his near-sighted range. "Oh. This looks okay."

"Just think how good it'll look tomorrow." Marcy tossed everything back into her case. "I've got a turtleneck you can borrow, too, if you need. It's this thin knit material, so you won't roast. Oh, don't worry – it's actually from the men's department," she added.

By the relieved look on Wufei's face, she'd read his frown well enough. "Well. Yes. Thank you." He smoothed a hand through his hair, the fine strands of which began to obediently lay flat with his gentle combing motions. "This is very kind of you. I… I appreciate it."

"Sure, whatever. It's no big deal."

"No, I—I didn't think you liked me," said Wufei. "So, thank you."

Marcy gave his ankle a playful kick. "Well. You're more popular than you think."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Wow! Your responses to the last chapter were overwhelming. Well, I could have predicted that, but still! Thank you. Thank you very much.

Don't worry— more Quatre and Trowa in the next chapter which, as always, I will endeavor to have out ASAP.

As for the fact that I seem to be resolving the story … Yup, FoBW will probably come to an end sometime this year. I have my next project already in mind, although I would like to continue telling stories in this alternate universe with these characters. (If you guys would be interested in that, of course!) Anyway. I better stop rambling and get back to writing. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	92. Gone

LSC / 09-28-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Two: Gone)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 92

**Gone**

* * *

Duo waited until they parked back at Heero's apartment to start the fight. It showed an uncharacteristic amount of patience on his part, and possibly the foresight of not upsetting Trowa while he was driving. Quatre spent the entire drive fretting the inevitable confrontation. He found a loose thread on Sandy's front paw and picked it free – an action he immediately regretted, and he kept imagining stitching falling open until that worry overtook all other sources of stress.

"So, Q-ball," drawled Duo. He unbuckled and leaned between the seats. Quatre flinched back against the door. "I couldn't help but notice your distinct lack of surprise at Trowa, you know. _Talking_."

"Um," said Quatre. An endless stream implausible and foolish lies presented themselves to his frantically searching thoughts. His heart began a wild thump-thump racing. "Oh, I—um. I don't, um." Breathless stammering not-speech fell out of his mouth until he clenched his jaw shut around the nonsense.

"What the hell? Really? _Seriously_?" Duo puffed exasperated air up through his bangs. "I don't even know what to think about that."

Trowa shot him a guarded look of warning.

"Nuh-uh," said Duo. He wagged an admonishing finger at Trowa. "You've blown your membership in the psychic mind-connection club. Oh, my God – Trowa, do you have any idea how many bajillion questions I have for you right now? How long have you been talking to Quatre? Why the hell did no one tell me? Who else knows? Does Catherine know? Am I the last person to find out?"

"No," said Quatre. He spoke from around Sandy's ear. "No one knows. Just me. I – I'm really sorry, Duo."

"For how long? Since we've been on the lamb? Longer? Since the _hospital_?" Duo swore when Quatre just kept nodding meekly to his accusations. "Why didn't you tell me? How could you—"

"I made him," said Trowa. Quatre took concerned note of the way Trowa's hands shook as he balled them into fists. "I told him not to tell you. Or anyone."

Duo stared at him. "It is completely surreal to hear your voice. It's… I'd say it's like I expected, but I honestly never expected… But! Trowa! Why would you make Quatre keep such a huge secret? And, Cutie-Q, all this time, really? I thought we were close. I thought—"

"Duo." Heero snapped the name in forceful warning.

"Heero." Duo mimicked the stern tone.

Heero was watching Quatre, who was quietly succumbing to inward full-scale panic. Quatre thought he probably looked okay, on the outside. It wasn't like Heero actually knew how loud and fast his heart went, how fluttering and shallow his breathing was, or how numb his hands felt as they clutched Sandy. He never should have forgotten about acting surprised when Trowa started talking to him. He should have put up a big fuss. Burst into tears of happiness. _Oh, Trowa! Trowa, you're talking_ – the imaginary scene felt all sorts of wrong, but he should have acted his heart out. He'd done well so far protecting Trowa's secret only to fail him when it really mattered.

He jerked with a terrible start when Trowa lightly closed a warm hand over the locked grip Quatre exerted into Sandy's belly and face. "Quatre, are you all right?"

"What? Yes. Fine," said Quatre automatically. Hopefully his voice didn't sound as distant to them as it did to his own ears. It only seemed distant because of the dull rushing sound, like waves breaking over a rocky shore. Oh, yes; that must be his heartbeat, accelerating to infinity.

Duo was looking at him, too. Oh, Lord, they were _all_ looking at him. Quick, grimacing contrition crossed Duo's face, shimmering out of existence the petulant scowling from before. "Ah, geez," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm totally not mad at you or anything, okay-Q? You either, Trowa. Go back to being silent if you want. I'll pretend this never happened."

"Oh, um—" Quatre wanted to tell Duo it was okay, that he understood how unfair it was for them to blindside him like they had, but he didn't quite have enough air to speak.

Trowa set a hand against his neck, as if to steady him. "Quatre?"

"He's gone white again," said Duo to Trowa, quite urgently. "Roll down a window. Get some air in here for him."

"Putting your head between your knees is supposed to correct blood flow," offered Heero.

_They_ were making him dizzy with all the fussing and attention. Everyone was too close. Duo had squeezed himself between the gap in the seats, Trowa was leaned across the middle console, even Heero sat forward in his seat to watch the proceedings. Quatre didn't like the panicky, claustrophobic feeling it gave him. They were all talking at once at trying to be nice and, oh—

He must have only been out for a minute, maybe less. Just long enough to panic everyone else, apparently. It was a strange skip through consciousness, like a long blink during which everything changed. Duo had him by the shoulders now and practically sat on the console to do so. The driver's side door hung open, which puzzled Quatre right up until the door at his back disappeared in a rush of cool air. He toppled back in a guided fall, right into Trowa's arms.

"You got him?" asked Duo.

"Yeah. Duo, get the keys," said Trowa. "Lock it for me, will you?"

"On it," said Duo. He tumbled into the front seat and snagged Catherine's plastic dolphin keychain out of the ignition. He continued the rolling motion out the door, in something of an attempted barrel-roll that nearly ended messily. He bounced up, unharmed, and locked up the car. Quatre started to gather himself together at the same time that Trowa tried to pick him up out of the car. It was very disorienting.

"Quatre? Put your arms around my neck," said Trowa. "If you can."

"Oh, I – um," He needed to tell everyone it was okay, that he was awake now, that he was fine and they didn't need to fuss. But then Quatre considered the bright urgency with which Duo had disregarded his previous tirade and how all the tension between him and Trowa seemingly vanished during the odd, shuddering blink of his collapse.

Maybe it was cowardly and shameful of him to exploit their concern, but Quatre quieted his protests and instead looped both arms around Trowa. Sandy bumped against the back of Trowa's head, but neither of them seemed to mind, and Quatre wasn't about to let go of either his bear or Trowa.

"Heero, go grab— Yeah, the front door. Thanks," said Duo.

Quatre pressed his face into the curve of Trowa's shoulder. He shouldn't pretend to feel worse than he really did. It was wrong of him, Quatre knew it was wrong, but _anything_ to make them stop fighting. He was setting a dangerous precedent for himself. He couldn't forever deny Duo any kind of explanation, but neither could he swoon into an embarrassing faint every time the topic of conversation arose. Maybe it'd be okay just this once, just because everything was so dramatic and new. Maybe Duo would calm down if enough time passed and the novelty of Trowa's voice wore off. He couldn't see anything except the edge of Trowa's sweater and Sandy's stuffed, smiling sort of face, and a bobbing bit of ground just below. He scrunched his eyes tight and burrowed closer to Trowa, as much as that was possible considering how tight Trowa clutched _him_.

No one said anything in the elevator. Quatre almost wished someone would, just so he didn't have to hear his own heartbeat. It still seemed quick to him, more than it should be, so maybe he wasn't entirely faking.

There came the soft sound of Heero unlatching the door to his apartment, and then Duo spoke at last. "Put him in the spare room. I'll get the door. Heero, will you get a glass of water? That's your job now. You're the water-bearer. Oh, man... too bad you're not an Aquarius. Or, wait, are you? Hell if I know my astrology."

Everything dipped as Trowa laid him carefully on the bed. Quatre immediately tried to sit up, which ran counter to his scheme. He was simply unable to stop the impulse. Trowa caught his shoulder with a gentle hand. "Don't," he said quietly. He lingered a touch across Quatre's forehead, eyes heavy and warm with concern.

Well, that made Quatre feel like a terrible person. He started to admit to Trowa he felt perfectly fine, that he could have walked from the car to the apartment, but Heero appeared with the glass of water and suddenly Quatre was the center of attention again. He meekly tried to drown himself with water instead of own up to his duplicity.

"Hey, Trowa," said Duo in a whisper. "Can I…?" He tipped his head toward the living room several times.

Trowa shifted a wary look between Duo and Quatre.

"It's not about, you know." Duo flapped his hand like a puppet near his mouth.

Trowa leaned close over the bed and tucked a brief kiss into Quatre's jaw, in the little pocketed space behind his ear that always set him to shivering. "Just lay down and rest, okay?"

Quatre nodded. Honestly he felt grateful they were all leaving now. Trowa glanced back with a hand on the door knob, conflicted over abandoning Quatre. He tried to look as if resting on the bed in the not-Duo/not-Zechs room was precisely what he wanted and intended to do. Trowa at last ducked out of the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

Until the slow count of ten he waited, eyes cast up at the ceiling and straining to hear into the other room. Only when he judged it safe did Quatre slip from the bed and creep up on the closed bedroom door. He couldn't hear much, even with his ear pressed to the door. Quatre very, very carefully pulled the door open just the tiniest smidge of a crack. The slightest sound of conversation drifted into the threshold of his hearing.

"…before, you know. When was it – the day of that field trip, and then all after that. Same things with the milk-face look and what not."

"Field trip?" said Trowa.

"Yeah," said Duo. "It was, I don't know, some months ago. August. Like, three weeks before we jail broke. Long story, Quatre got caught dodging out of line and those bastards got up in his grill about it and, kaboom."

"When he was at the mall?" asked Trowa. "After that?"

"Yeah. How the hell do you—Oh, shit. Really? Then he, to meet you, and Wufei, and… Well, fuck. Okay. Yeah. So. Right after that and, oh man, like I said, same thing. Except they had to syringe the poor kid; you weren't around to mojo magic tranquility like some kind of Quatre-whisperer."

Quatre recoiled from the door. They were talking about _him_. Morbid curiosity had him pressing once more toward the small eavesdropping gap.

"Look, Trowa. I'm just saying – I really am sorry for going off on you guys in the car. I wasn't thinking about Quatre's, you know. And, whatever, a guy doesn't stay silent for nine years without good reason, so if this is the last conversation we ever have… Fine, I get that. We're still friends. I liked you perfectly fine as a mute. We got along all right like that."

Quatre couldn't see anything, and he was afraid to open the sliver of space between the jamb and the door for fear of being caught. Trowa may have taken Duo up on his offer, or possibly he just spoke so softly that even Quatre's intent straining couldn't pick up the sound.

Duo 's voice came again after a long pause. "I promise, not a word more to Quatre about it. You think I like seeing him get scared senseless anymore than you do? Hell, no. My eardrums couldn't handle it, for sure. Hands off, cross my heart."

Another length of infuriating silence. Quatre held his breath, to see if muting that little puff of sound would help his spying. It did not.

"I do have one last question and then swear to God I'll never mention it again," said Duo. "Are you done with the whole… not-talking thing? I mean, if you've been chatting up Quatre this whole time – And, believe me, holy crap am I actually super relieved to hear that. I was like, how the hell does poor Cutie-Q do that? Now I know, so, that's awesome. Yay for Quatre, sunshine and rainbows all around. But! For all humans on this planet who aren't adorable little blond-and-blush Quatre, is it back to the permanent no-offense-meant silent treatment?"

"I don't know," said Trowa. Quatre's heart ached in sympathy for the misery bleeding into the words.

"Fair enough," Duo was quick to say. "Totally fine with me, whatever you decide to do. Listen – you're still good at that, I hope – one other quick thing before my time in surreal chit-chat-Trowa land ends. I've hopefully—" Duo's voice dropped to a whisper but came closer. "Where's Heero? Okay, glaring at his cookbook, great. Assuming he doesn't burn the place to the ground we'll have lunch soon I guess. I was saying; I've hopefully got some kind of permanent thing here, and I've been thinking of getting Quatre in on it. Roomies for life, yo."

"You can ask him," said Trowa. "But he's got something else in mind."

"Oh, right. His 'plan.'"

"He told you?"

"Not really. Not what he wants to do, just that he's got some idea. Why? What'd he tell you?"

"Some sort of agreement with his dad," said Trowa. "He wouldn't—"

"What!" Duo broke in with a screech. "Daddy dearest, that suited up motherfucker with the heart of coal? Trowa, did you ever meet that guy? I don't know about you, but I was _not_ getting the warm and fuzzy let's-make-a-deal vibe."

"He think it'll work out," said Trowa, blessedly loyal.

"Yeah right back to fucking Hel' it'll work out! If the bastard sent him there once he'll do it again, guaranteed. I got sent there for being too goddamn crazy for reform school, Wufei's so fucked he can't function, you and Zechs both tried to hop the razor train to Heaven – and Quatre? Three fucking guesses and the first two don't count that the fact he showed up banshee-screaming broke-down terrified of his own _shadow_ has something to with why he ended up roommates with a certifiable psychopath like me in the first place."

"Shut up," hissed Trowa. "He'll hear you."

Quatre had, in fact, retreated all the way to the bed during Duo's outburst. He scrunched into the corner with Sandy over his ears. More effective than the bear at blocking out the unwanted noise was the sound of his own heart, once again beating furiously. "Calm down," Quatre whispered into the pillow. _Calm down calm down calmdowncalm_—

The hinge popped as the door glided open. Footsteps came into the room. The bed sagged with additional weight as someone sat on the edge and then leaned over him. Quatre cringed when a hand settled on his back. "Are you awake?" asked Trowa.

Quatre reluctantly nodded. It was kind of Trowa to pretend otherwise; he clearly hadn't been sleeping, but something told him that if he'd ignored the question Trowa would go along with the deceit. He shifted to lay on his side, facing up at Trowa with Sandy tucked under his chin.

Trowa brushed his fingers through Quatre's bangs and across his forehead, as if testing for a fever. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," said Quatre.

"Heero's making lunch."

"Okay."

Something in the weight of Trowa's gaze unsettled Quatre. It made him sit up, alarmed, and clutch at Trowa's hand with both his own. Concern bloomed in his chest and bubbled up into his throat as questions that lodged and stuck and tangled around awkwardness. Trowa's eyes were too serious, too solemn, too _sad_, like he'd given up on something or… Quatre could make several accurate guesses as to the nature of what worried and sadden Trowa so, and he doubly regretted his selfish avoidance of Duo's justifiable fuss.

"Trowa—" He started to speak, but Trowa shook his head slightly and the words froze on his tongue.

Trowa pulled his hand free of Quatre's clutching grasp, withdrawing to his section of the bed. He looked at the floor. "I'm going to go now," he said.

"Why?" blurted Quatre.

"To get Catherine. Her shift ends soon."

"Oh." Quatre tried to remember what time Catherine said her shift ended; he thought it was later, closer to dinner, but trusted Trowa to know her schedule with much more accuracy. He dragged Sandy across the bed and into his lap. "I'll go with you."

The bowed line of Trowa's shoulders fell further. "No," he said. "Stay here."

"Trowa, I'm not – I'm not dizzy anymore, or, anything like that. I feel fine. I am fine, so, I can come with you. I can… I could stay over, if you wanted."

Trowa shook his head. "Catherine… Tomorrow's suppose to be a school day for you. Not tonight, okay?"

Still Quatre couldn't bring himself to just ask Trowa what was clearly bothering him. Then again, Quatre _knew_ the answer, and he was afraid of upsetting Trowa further by bringing the subject up in the first place. He felt powerless to help the situation. He'd ruined Trowa's secret by his failure to act earlier, so maybe the best thing to do now was let Trowa be alone. Quatre wasn't dumb enough to ask if Trowa intended to go home and start talking to Catherine, even if he was curious, same as Duo, if this meant Trowa was done being a mute.

"Okay," he agreed. He shouldn't be agreeing; he should be comforting Trowa, or apologizing, or – Quatre's fingers dug viciously into Sandy's face.

Trowa ducked in and pressed a soft kiss to Quatre's cheek. He rested his forehead on Quatre's shoulder, and then, slowly, in bits and pieces, enfolded Quatre into an embrace. It started tender and turned crushing, so that Quatre felt flickering panic at the severity. "I love you," said Trowa. "I love you so much."

"Um?" gasped Quatre. "I-I… Okay? Trowa? I love you, too." He batted awkwardly at Trowa's shoulders, trying to return the hug but constricted so tightly that it was almost impossible.

Trowa released him and stood, in one sharp motion that bordered on violent. Quatre bounced up from the bed and started forward out of sheer impulse. "Wait, Trowa." He caught hold of the boy's elbow just at the door. "Trowa, I – I'm sorry for earlier, when I—"

Trowa kissed him full on the lips, effectively suppressing the apology. The passion and force took Quatre by surprise, but he willingly tipped up on his toes and clutched at Trowa's shoulders to deepen their connection. Fluttering tendrils of excitement rose up from the touch of Trowa's hands around his waist, pulling him closer. Quatre went willing as always, submitting to the wildfire desire that rushed heat into his skin and made each caress and kiss an electrifying burst.

Wood and metal rattled in protest as Trowa fumbled a hand over the door knob, searching for the locking mechanism. He must have found it, or given up on the effort, because he started guiding Quatre back across the room. The soft but insistent edge of the bed bumped against the back of Quatre's knees. He buckled into the bed with a muffled gasp. Trowa followed right after, making the old mattress springs pop and groan. He lingered affection into all the delicate places that set Quatre to shuddering.

"Trowa, wa—" Quatre couldn't catch his breath, could barely think. Something felt _wrong_, and as much as he wanted to submit to all the dizzying heights that Trowa's touch promised, he needed to—but, Oh Lord, Trowa's hands were on him with such urgent devotion.

They were going to hear him, in the other room, eavesdropping in just like Quatre had earlier. Quatre grabbed at Duo and Heero's proximity as a lifeline to draw him out of the headlong rush, but the less logical parts of him countered with the countless nights tucked into Trowa's bed with Catherine equally near. He just had to be quiet, except, oh, that was becoming difficult with that strange unknown difference in the way Trowa pulled him close. That something was dark and wild and tremble-inducing, so that it savaged Quatre's heart and left him sundered and heaving, bursting with equal yearning.

Their motions were faster now, harder; he was going to _scream_ with the rising intensity, but the absolute last thing he wanted was for Trowa to stop. He might die if Trowa stopped. Quatre pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. It failed to stifle entirely the breathless, rhythmic cries. From Trowa came only the harsh, labored sound of his breathing. Absent entirely was his bedroom telepathy, the hushed bare whisperings of affection that Quatre adored.

Release struck him with electro-shock violence. Fireworks burst behind his eyes, searing away coherent thought. A wailing broke free of his resolve, but Quatre clamped his teeth around the meaty part of his thumb, biting it as he often did Sandy's ear, to muffle the sound. Someone was speaking, the words forming nonsense and untangling into apology, rough and gentle like ripped and worm velvet upholstery—but he knew only broken, gasping darkness.

* * *

It was sometime later that Quatre awoke. He jolted into consciousness with a stomach-dropping falling sensation, so intense and believable that he clutched a hand into the sheets. Quatre pushed himself up on one elbow and found his body stiff and unresponsive. For a split-second he worried over the battered, tender feel of him, but then a mortifying rush of detail flooded his memory, and Quatre feared the bed might catch fire with the heat of his sudden blush.

Fortunately he was alone in the bedroom. Or, rather, possibly unfortunately; where was Trowa? Quatre found Sandy easily enough. The poor teddy bear had been slung to the floor at some point, where he rested half-hidden under the puddle of Quatre's clothes. He dressed slowly, working out the soreness from his limbs as he did so.

He noticed, with some surprise and worry, a red half-moon curve of a mark on his thumb from where he'd bitten it. Quatre scrubbed at the tender spot, hoping to obscure it, before giving the effort up as futile. Hopefully no one would notice. He set Sandy on the pillow and drifted toward the bathroom that connected the two bedrooms. After a long hesitation he rapped softly on the closed door and, when no response came, peeked through to determine the room was truly unoccupied.

After a quick shower, Quatre studied himself in the mirror. Heero's assortment of notes edging the mirror distracted him, but Quatre was able to tousle flat the tumble of his hair. Already it was starting to fluff dry around his ears and at his neck, where it was longest. He'd need to have Duo take scissors to it again at some point soon.

In the living room he found Heero hunched over his bed sheet spread of appliance surgery, brow knit with concentration as he applied a set of needle-nose pliers to the innards of the blender. Duo sat nearby folding together laundry. They both looked up when Quatre slipped out of the spare bedroom.

"Heya, sleepy head!" chirped Duo. He flashed such a brilliant grin that Quatre felt an answering smile curl across his face as well. Duo expertly boxed together one of his own infinite supply of black shirts and said, "You missed lunch entirely. I saved your portion in the fridge though."

"Oh, thanks," said Quatre. He started for the kitchen. "Did, um, did Trowa leave?"

"Yeah, like, over two hours ago. Enjoy your nap?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Quatre wadded up the plastic wrap off his lunch and stuck the plate in the microwave. Heero had made another casserole of some sort, a pizza-themed one by the look of it. Quatre could see slices of pepperoni chopped in with black olives and twists of pasta underneath all the red sauce and cheese. Heero seemed to like casseroles, considering how often he made them. Then again, knowing Heero, there could be another slightly more unusual explanation. Quatre made a note to ask Duo next time they were alone.

"Good." Duo stuffed one of Heero's socks inside the other. "I didn't want to come disturb your slumber or anything." He chucked, and the low laughter shifted into a quick, silly giggle. "When the spare bed's a rocking, don't come knocking," he said.

Quatre flushed from head to toe, or so it felt. Petrified humiliation nearly had him sinking below the kitchen counter to hide. The microwave beeped to indicate his portion of the casserole was done reheating, and Quatre startled badly at the sound.

Duo must have noticed his embarrassment, because he quickly stopped laughing and had the decency to look chagrined. "Sorry, it's not like – Forget I said anything. Hey, when you finish eating, and I finish folding, let's try practicing that silly clapping game the girls taught us. I want to teach Heero."

"I need to finish this," said Heero. His tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth as he bent even lower over the delicate wiring he was attempting to fix.

"Well, how long is that going to take?"

"I don't know."

"As long as it takes Quatre to eat and me to fold the laundry?"

"I don't know." Heero glanced up at Duo. "It will take as long as it takes."

Duo rolled his eyes. "You're impossible. What on earth could you possibly have that is in need of dire blending anyway?"

Quatre, perched on the bar stool to eat his meal, had been bouncing his attention between the two of them like watching a tennis match. Now he focused on Heero, who was staring at Duo with an odd look on his face. He'd stopped working on the blender but still gripped the pliers.

"What?" said Duo, after an inordinate length of silence.

"I don't have an intended use for this," said Heero. "I just thought it was useful to have." He sounded heartbroken over the fact.

"You could make malts," said Quatre. "You know. With ice cream."

"Yeah!" Duo reached across and gripped Heero's shoulder. "And smoothies, or protein shakes. You could get a thermos and take one to work with you in the mornings. And a bunch of other stuff I'm sure. I bet you someone wrote a cookbook with nothing but blender recipes in it you can get."

Heero seemed to weigh their words carefully. He looked down at the spilled guts of the appliance in question. "I can finish this some other time," he said.

"Nah, finish it now," said Duo. "Quatre and I need practice anyway. Or we'll play a card game or something. Or, oh! Yeah." He made messy work of the towel he was folding in order to get it out of the way before jumping to his feet. "I'll call Wufei. Heero, what was the phone number?"

Heero told him, although his mouth sloped into a frown at the request. Duo, either oblivious or purposefully ignoring the glowering disapproval, punched the numbers into the phone. Quatre watched with interest from his place at the bar.

"Hey," said Duo, once someone answered. "Can I talk to Wufei? What do you mean he – Oh, ohhh. Yeah. No. That's fine, Meiran or Treize then. Thanks. .. Hello—woah! Hey, hey, uh, Meiran? Christ on toast, who taught you phone manners? Coming right out the gate like that by telling me to drop dead, geez. Huh? Yeah, hi, this is Duo. Yup. Nuh-uh. Nope. I don't know, some chick with blue – Marsha."

"Marcy," whispered Quatre.

"Yeah!" Duo flashed him a thumbs up. "Marcy gave me the number. Who did you think – Oh, Zechs? I guess that would make sense, but I haven't seen him. Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. Yeah, I have no idea. Swear to God. Well, I'll deliver the sentiment if you want." Duo rolled his eyes. "Tell Wufei I called, would'ya? Oh, wait, let me give you the number for here. I think Wufei has it already, don't ask me how – Oh, Heero's probably in the phonebook, good point. Anyway write it down somewhere and tell Wufei to call when he can, okay?"

Quatre finished and rinsed his plate off in the sink. Duo wrapped up his call, and then together they went back into the living room to watch Heero work. To make up for nearly sending Heero's project into an existential crisis, Duo badgered him with questions about the technical aspects of what he was doing. The explanations didn't make any sense to Quatre, and he suspected they made just as much sense to Duo, but Heero seemed to enjoy talking about his tinkering as always.

When Heero finished his repair work, Duo insisted they go immediately into the kitchen and try it out. When the steel blades whirled to life, Duo cheered so enthusiastically that Quatre joined in, clapping as if Heero had just won an Oscar. Bewildered by their praise but nonetheless pleased with his work, Heero allowed Duo to blend handfuls of ice into a slush. A water smoothie, Duo called it.

The three of them passed the remainder of the afternoon in easy company. Dinner comprised of reheated casserole, and Heero had to scrape the dish clean to fill all three plates. He frowned at the vanished casserole with such consternation that Duo immediately set to prying.

"I wanted some for lunch tomorrow," said Heero.

"Oh," said Duo. "Well, I'll make you lunch in the morning."

A flash of alarm filled Heero's face. "I can do it," he snapped.

Duo leaned toward Quatre. "I once slowly tortured a pop-tart to death in a particularly glorious failure of culinary masterwork. The toaster was so humiliated to be involved in the process that it took a flaming swan dive off the counter and on to Heero's foot."

Even though Heero didn't have chores written on his calendar, Duo and Quatre pitched in and washed the casserole pan, their plates, and all the other accumulated dishes. What Heero had said about running out of leftovers for his lunch stuck on Quatre's conscience and turned his thoughts into a muddle. Heero had been exceptionally generous so far in opening his home to them, albeit only because Duo insisted. Despite appearances to the contrary, Quatre was quickly figuring out that Heero ultimately caved to Duo on most everything.

When the hour grew late and darkness settled fully into the sky, Quatre waited for a lull in their poker game before asking, "Do you mind if I use the phone?"

"No," said Heero.

"Er," Quatre considered the literal question he had ask before becoming dismayed at Heero's answer. "Thanks."

Duo stopped scowling at his cards. He'd picked poker and been dismayed to realize Heero's reluctant card-counting ability could ruin games other than Go Fish. They were betting fistfuls of Duo's art supplies, with the current exchange rate between one paintbrush to five oil pastels. "Who ya calling?" he asked Quatre.

"Oh, just." Quatre's cheeks heated. "Trowa."

Duo grinned but withheld any amount of teasing. Quatre set his cards aside and went to the kitchen where Heero kept his phone. He'd prefer the receiver be cordless, so he could take it to the opposite side of the apartment for privacy, but at least he wouldn't be exposing Trowa's secret if the conversation went both ways.

She picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi. This is Quatre."

"Oh, hello! I was wondering when you'd call."

"Oh, um? I'm sorry." Quatre curled his finger into the plastic loops of the phone cord. "I just wanted to speak to Trowa for a bit."

"What?" Catherine's voice flattened. "What do you mean?"

"Um? I don't… I just wanted to call… I'm sorry?"

Duo picked himself up off the floor at the distressed quality of Quatre's stammering. He mouthed, _What's wrong?_

"No, Quatre, that's not – Isn't Trowa with you?"

"W-what?"

"Trowa's not here," said Catherine. "He's suppose to be with you still. That's what I thought. I just got home, well, an hour ago, but – Quatre, is Trowa not with you?"

The panic in her voice matched the whirlwind spinning to life out of the suffusion of worry and fear and what-ifs in Quatre's heart. "N-n-n," he tried to say. He needed to explain what had happened, so they could compare stories, or maybe figure out that Trowa was just temporarily in between their supervision. She had to be thinking the same as he, that Trowa hadn't really been left alone since coming home from the hospital. That was the agreement between them, to keep an eye on Trowa.

"What's wrong?" whispered Duo. "What happened?"

Quatre turned wide eyes up at Duo in silent panic. Hot and cold flashed like a strobe light over his skin, making him shiver. "T-Trowa's not here," he managed to say. The phone felt much too heavy in his numb grip.

Catherine made a whimpering sound, like something of a swear even though she never cussed. "When did you see him last? When did he leave?"

Quatre shook his head. He'd done well to get what words he could out from around the crushing in his chest. A trembling weakness settled into his knees, and Quatre slumped to the floor. He nearly dragged the base of the phone down on his head in the fall, but Duo dove and caught prevented the collision. He plucked the receiver out from Quatre's unresisting grasp.

"Hello? Yeah, hi. This isn't Quatre – obviously – and we can probably skip the introductions considering the situation, if I understand correctly, is that—Yeah, okay. No, yeah. Nah, I'm a friend. Yeah, we were hanging out earlier. Uh, like, a bit after one, maybe somewhere around that time. Okay. Okay. Really? Okay."

As Duo and Catherine swapped notes, Quatre knelt on the tile and tried to squish out of existence the rising panic attack. Heero, drawn by the commotion, crouched down beside him with a suddenness that startled Quatre. He offered a glass of water without comment.

"All right. Don't call the police, that's a horribly pessimistic idea. No, you stay there. Call here, I'll give you the number. Call if he shows up, and I'll have my, uh, roommate do the same back to you. We'll go looking. I have some idea – I think I can guess what, well, okay. Never you mind that. Don't worry, okay? We'll find him, one way or another."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I have a busy weekend, but hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter out soon … 'cause I know I'm leaving this on something of an anxious note.

Thanks as always for your comments and praise. I get so giddy and motivated at the responses. I'm glad to hear people would be interested in a continuance/sequel, for when this main story ultimately ends. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	93. Searching

LSC / 09-30-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Three: Searching)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 93

**Searching**

* * *

It was sometime before anyone could get Quatre calmed down enough to actually fracture together sentences, rather than frantic half-sobs. And by anyone Duo meant himself, although Heero did what he could by offering increasingly more elaborate items out of the kitchen. The whole endeavor culminated in Quatre seated on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate clutched in his hands.

"Quatre, it's okay," Duo said for the millionth time. "I'm sure Trowa's fine. Once you settle down we can go sort this mess out, okay?"

"Okay," said Quatre. It was a marked improvement of the miserable sounds he'd been making earlier. The colorless quality to his face went beyond merely pale, it was like glass ready to shatter. "B-but what if—"

Duo slapped a hand over the words. "Nope," he said. "Don't even think about that. Trowa is fine. You and Catherine are both overreacting. He's spent the last, what, ten months under pretty much constant supervision, right? He probably just wanted to be alone for a bit, okay? Don't even get yourself started playing what ifs."

Quatre wobbled his head into a nod, and Duo removed his hand from the kid's mouth. It wasn't that Duo felt Quatre's concern was unwarranted, he just knew someone had to keep a level head over the situation, and that someone had to be him. Heero would probably just make a list if he was in charge of things; _Reasons Trowa Has Likely_ – but not even as a joke to himself could Duo complete that thought. He felt just as keyed up and anxious as any of them, but someone had to stay calm, and Quatre was clearly having a hard time not curling back on to the kitchen floor in a heaving ball of blistering panic. The fact that Duo could even get him talking was promising, and Quatre clung to his reassurances like a lifeline.

Duo definitely needed to keep Quatre and Catherine from cooperating on their what ifs. Hers was the strongest and most justifiable fear, as Duo knew from the hospital rumor mill that she'd been the one to find Trowa after his last attempt, the one that landed him in Hel'. Duo knew that it certainly hadn't been Trowa's first attempt at checking out from the game of life, either

According to Treize, who sometimes liked to make a game of peeking at other patient's records in therapy, there'd been at least one other incident, something involving a stomach pumping with bonus complications. What had been the medical term? He'd bugged Wufei into looking it up in the library's medical textbook afterward, because he thought it sounded cool. Something about the larynx, and they shoved Trowa through a gauntlet of tests to make sure he hadn't irreparably damaged the vocal cords he never used in the first place. All that fuss, on top of a failed suicide attempt. At the time Duo thought that the height of irony and highly amusing, because he wasn't actually friends with Trowa yet.

The wounded, fallen angel kind of look hadn't faded from Quatre huge aquamarine eyes, but he sipped at the hot chocolate and didn't say anything more about _what if_. What possessed Heero make hot chocolate, Duo could not understand, but it'd at least given him something to do while Duo sat with Quatre on the kitchen floor and talked him out of hysterics. Now Heero just hovered nervously to one side of the sofa, no doubt subsumed with fear that Quatre's trembling grip might up-end the mug across the cheap, dingy carpet.

The telephone rang, and poor Quatre jolted so violently that he accidentally slopped hot chocolate out of the mug, across his hand, and into the sofa and carpet both. He made a sharp little gasp, possibly due to the scalding liquid coming in contact with his skin, or maybe because of the mess. Duo snatched the mug before it could drop. "Heero, get the phone! Quatre, go rinse your hand in cold water, quick."

"I'm sorry," said Quatre. "I'm so sorry. Heero, I'm sorry about the spill. I'll clean it up, I'm sorry." He was blabbering, and about to start blubbering judging by the wet way he blinked. Duo figured he probably wasn't all that upset about the actual incident so much as unraveling at the seams.

Duo stood and gripped Quatre under the elbow. "Cutie-Q, it's fine. Don't worry about the carpet or anything, okay? Go take care of your hand."

Heero always answered the phone with an accusation, and this time was no exception. He practically barked into the receiver. "Hello."

"Heero, for the love of God – don't say my name if it's Trowa's sister," Duo hissed.

"Is it Catherine? Do you think it's Catherine? Do you think Trowa came home?"

"I don't know." Duo forced Quatre up off the sofa. For a moment it seemed like Quatre's knees had gone to pudding again and he wouldn't be able to stay upright, but Duo dragged him toward the kitchen sink anyway. He set the mug of hot chocolate on the counter and ran the cold water. "Quatre, here, your hand. Did you get burned?"

Quatre wasn't paying the least bit of attention to Duo, but he allowed Duo to stick his hand under the faucet. The skin across the fleshy part of Quatre's thumb was lurid red, more so than Duo would have expected given the hot chocolate wasn't all that hot. He'd have to go get the burn cream out from the first aid kit; the kid must have burned the shit out of himself without realizing it.

"Is it Catherine?" asked Quatre again.

"Yes," said Heero. It was infuriatingly impossible to say if he spoke to the unknown caller or was answering Quatre's question. "Yes. Okay. I understand. I will do so. Yes. Goodbye."

"Well?" demanded Duo, on Quatre's anxious behalf. He tore several paper towels free from the roll and handed them to Heero, who made a beeline for the living room to save his precious security deposit. Like his landlord was going to notice three small drops amid the trashed out wreck of the carpet which was probably older than any of them. At least he'd been good enough to get the phone first.

"It was Catherine," said Heero. "She wanted me to tell you her car is outside the apartment, and Trowa put the keys in the mailbox for her."

Duo nearly threw the mug of hot chocolate directly at the back of Heero's head. Now he had to think of a clever explanation to soften the blow for Quatre, who swiveled a lost, broken sort of look at him.

"What else did she say?" Duo demanded. He knew Heero could likely recite the entire conversation if prompted. Why he could never remember basic things like turning off ovens when the rest of his brain was a steel trap was a mystery that eluded Duo. Heero should have been a better student, too, like some Mozart of mathematics, but the god of insignificant superpowers blessed Heero with only the infuriatingly obnoxious and useless feats of memory. His grades had only been marginally better than Duo's, which were abysmal.

"That the car was not in its usual spot, so she hadn't noticed it until now."

Duo turned off the sink since Quatre showed no interest doing so. Already the redness over his hand was looking better, so Duo second-guessed his need to rush the first-aid kit. It wasn't like Quatre really cared all that much about a possible burn in the grand scheme of Trowa-is-Missing.

"Okay," said Duo. "Okay, so. That makes things a lot easier to figure out, right? I mean, if he'd taken the car he could be anywhere in the city. Now we know he's got to be somewhere close to the apartment. Within walking distance probably."

"But." Quatre trembled through a nervous swallow. "But what if—"

"Nope."

Quatre persisted. "But, Duo. What if he—"

"Quatre, seriously! Stop it."

Round-eyed and pale, Quatre fell silent. Duo wavered on the cusp of apologizing for getting snappish, but Quatre didn't seem offended so much as petrified. Duo decided to keep rolling forward. The sooner he found some solid answers rather than idle speculation, well, he could slap Trowa senseless for worrying everyone to death. Assuming none of Quatre's what ifs actually proved true. Duo was half-afraid that allowing Quatre to say them aloud might solidify the obvious conclusion into fact, like Trowa might overhear and take it under consideration.

"Come on. Grab Sandy and let's get going. Heero, stay here by the phone, okay?" Duo snatched the memo pad and pencil designated for the grocery list off the fridge. He tore a new sheet of paper free and scribbled down Catherine's number. "Call her if Trowa shows up here or anything. Quatre, where's your jacket?"

"In the bedroom."

"I'll get it. I'm gonna throw on a sweater or something anyway," Duo said.

He swerved through the spare bedroom first, eyes roaming over the clutter to pinpoint Quatre's jacket. The meager pile of Zechs's stuff struck as an awkward reminder that he was M.I.A. just the same as Trowa, and hopefully not for the same reason. Dammit. Duo had to stop thinking like that before he let something slip to Quatre. He snagged a sleeve on the bright red hooded sweatshirt and hauled it up from the rest of the clothes. Maybe it would summon Zechs out of the unknown to come bitch at Duo for borrowing shit without asking. Then again, maybe Quatre would recognize the sweatshirt, make the same scar-club connection, and find a million more reasons to breakdown. Duo let the damn thing puddle back to the floor.

Quatre's jacket in hand, Duo raided Heero's closet until he found a greyish-blue long-sleeved thermal, which he quickly swapped into place underneath the black shirt he'd been wearing. He found the arrangement of people in the living room more or less as he'd left it, except Heero had moved on to trying once again to feed away Quatre's worry by making more hot chocolate. Now that Duo thought about it, he was probably responsible for the association in Heero's mind between sweet things and comfort.

"Gulp it and let's go," Duo said.

"Good luck," said Heero. "I hope that—"

Duo kissed Heero quickly before he could finish with what was sure to have been a typically Heero blunt statement like _I hope Trowa hasn't killed himself_. Fuck, Duo wasn't supposed to think about that. Fuck, what if he'd just jinxed it. Fucking hell, was he going to have some choice words for Trowa about leaving a goddamn note next time. Except not that kind of note. The other kind of note. The _gone to be alone for a bit, be back soon_ type note. _Hey we're out of milk I'm gonna run and get some_ – that kind of note. Not the _goodbye world take care of my Cutie-Q_—

"Oh, shit," said Duo. Aloud, because he was a fucking idiot, and also the two-by-four of realization striking him across the back of the head had to knock something free.

That had been just about Trowa's exact fucking words on his way out the door. Not the goodbye world part - Duo wasn't so brilliantly retarded as to let something that dire slide under the radar, but the take care of Quatre part of things. But he'd said it so casually. _Quatre's asleep. Take care of him for me, will you?_ As in the whole fainting incident, not as in the—

"What?" asked Quatre. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Duo said. "Nothing's wrong. I just, uh. Hit my foot on the, uh – Bye, Heero!" Duo bundled Quatre into the jacket and hustled them both out the door.

The whole agonizingly slow elevator ride, Quatre tried to ask him something. Duo could see him chewing it around in silence. Normally he might start prodding, but that might be dangerous considering the circumstances. He didn't need anymore what ifs. Duo blurted out the absolute first thing not related to Trowa to cross his mind. And then the next. And kept going, because if there was one thing Duo could do in excess it was talk.

A monologue of nonsense streamed out of him for the length of the walk to the bus stop, the wait for the bus, and the tedious winding of the bus through the dark city streets. He didn't even have to think about what he saying, which was unfortunate since it meant he could mull endlessly over Trowa's cryptic behavior.

Duo did not often maintain regrets; he knew himself too well for that. The mercurial zig-zag of his mood meant he often said or did things worthy of extremely intense regret. If he let it dwell and fester and build – he'd go crazy. Well, crazier. He'd end up a sniveling ball of worthless self-loathing. So he tried to own up when in the wrong, joke away or ignore what he could, and generally embrace all his flaws.

Now, however, with dark fear over Trowa looming up like a shadow of his mask of bright optimism … for Quatre's sake he had to stay calm and reassuring, but inwardly he was starting to doubt his own assurances. It gave him cause for regret. He never should have made a big deal out of Trowa talking. Which was a big deal, obviously, but he showed a glaring lack of sensitivity over the issue. Trowa hadn't gone completely silent for nine fucking years for the fun of it, and Duo should have kept that in mind before turning the poor bastard over the grill.

If he thought Quatre capable of calmly discussing the issue, Duo might try working out some of the questions ricocheting around the inside of his skull. Despite the promise to Trowa otherwise, which was about to get rendered null and void. Except Quatre still looked about ready to break completely. Dammit.

Also, Duo let himself get too wrapped up in his head. He'd stopped talking. Quatre wavered into the opportunity. "Duo?"

"Uh. Yeah. What's up?"

Quatre fixed an unfocused stare down at the top of his teddy bear's head. "Have you ever thought about trying to… you know."

"What? Oh. Uh. Not really. Not, like, seriously or anything. I mean, okay, maybe sometimes when I get really, really, _really_ down in the well, yeah, thoughts like that cross my mind. But not to the point I would, you know, try or anything like that, and don't mention it to Heero. He wouldn't understand."

It was the wrong thing to say. Quatre's mouth drooped into trembling distress. "I don't understand either."

The bus rumbled around a corner too close and bounced against the curb. Duo threw an arm around Quatre as they both swayed into the jostling lurch of the turn. "Oh, sweetie. No, of course not. I didn't mean – No one really does, okay? There's this whole other way of thinking when you're that down. Even though you can be surrounded by people who really love and care for you, there's just this disconnect that happens where you feel alone. Everything's different. Colors aren't so vivid, foods you once loved go bland. Nothing's really worth getting out of bed for, but you do it anyway. You start to think, maybe there's no place for me here. Maybe everyone'd be a bit better off without me sad-sacking it through life."

Tears dribbled into an overflow across Quatre's cheeks, and he wiped them clear with a roll of his shoulder. "Do you think that Trowa—"

"No," said Duo swiftly. "I don't think that. I don't think Trowa's that far down. Trowa's fine."

"I don't…" Quatre plucked at one of his bear's eyes. "I think he… He seemed really upset earlier."

"When?"

Quatre shrugged, but by the slow spread of pink across the boy's face, Duo could take a guess at the timeframe.

"What do you mean? Quatre, I won't tease you if it's something kind of pervy. This is serious talk, I know that. I wouldn't joke about this, okay?"

Quatre mumbled a total incoherency and turned even brighter red. At Duo's gentle coercion, he repeated the words with a slight stuttering clarity. "It was d-different. He was… rough."

"Rough?" Duo snapped a quick search over the kid in alarm, looking for bruises or anything else he might have overlooked. "Did he hurt you?"

"No! No, not at all. That's not. That's not what I mean. That's—" Quatre pressed Sandy up against his face to hide. "He seemed… like, desperate maybe. I don't know. Just, different. He didn't seem himself."

"Okay," said Duo. He nearly blurted out something horribly crude, something like _you thinking he gave you one last hard fuck before offing himself?_ But he'd promised not to tease and, besides, the joke wasn't all that funny considering it could be true. "Well. Maybe he was just scared over when you fainted, you know? And then all the excitement over him, uh."

"Talking," said Quatre. He took Sandy's ear into his mouth. "He kept saying he was sorry."

"When? Oh. Then. Well, maybe he thought you didn't like it. You know, that he was hurting you or something."

"No… No, I definitely – I like Trowa." His lips quivered around the teddy bear's fur. "I love him."

Duo drew him close in a tight hug one-armed hug. "I know you do, kiddo. And Trowa knows that too, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

Quatre nodded against him. Duo could feel the shivering tension running through the boy's shoulders and back. They made the rest of the trip in silence, because Duo figured he'd already said too much. He never should have brought up the well. In a very Zen-like moment of enlightenment, he was overcome with the compassion to forgive Heero for all his bumbling worry whenever Duo flipped to the darker half of his lovely mood disorder. He thought again of Zechs, who'd gone equally missing and without two adoring suicide-watchers like Quatre and Catherine to keep track of him. Duo resolved to fix that, once this mess with Trowa got worked out. He'd find out what the hell was going on between Zechs and Treize, and where Wufei fit into everything, and then everyone could just settle out and be happy.

From the bus stop they walked toward Catherine's apartment in a slow, circular path with an eye to anywhere Trowa might have gone. At the fast-food burger place, Duo quizzed the woman behind the counter with a description of Trowa to no avail. He tried the same tactic at the video rental, where one of the employees working at least claimed to recognize Trowa but hadn't seen him. Quatre trailed after him, a little blond shadow of worry, as Duo stopped in at every logical place and quite a few illogical ones.

Duo pulled them in a wide detour around the apartment's actual street. He didn't want Catherine to spot Quatre. If the two of them convergence their concerns it would create a hurricane of oh-my-god-what-if terror to supersede all of Duo's hard work thus far in keeping a clear head. Several of the shops now were closed up for the evening, as the hour grew later, and Duo tried not to let his optimism fall. There was no guarantee Trowa hadn't hopped a bus or called a cab or simply started walking without a destination in mind.

"Oh, yeah," said the girl working at the convenience store. "I've seen him before. Hang on – Hi, is this all for you?" She swept the man's purchases under her scanner.

Duo grabbed a bar of chocolate and jumped into line before anymore customers could interrupt his interrogation. "Did you see him tonight?" Duo asked, as she rang him up.

"Uh, yeah. He usually comes in with his girlfriend, she always has the cutest shoes, but he was alone this time. You know, actually – it's one twenty-six for your total – he came in twice now that I think about it. Once at the start of my shift and then again, like, two hours ago."

Quatre's face lit up like Christmas fucking morning. "Thanks," said Duo. He scooped up the chocolate. "You don't happen to remember what he bought, do you?"

"No… bottle of water or something, maybe. Yeah, I don't know." She turned to flash a grin at the next customer. "Hi, how can I help you?"

Duo split the candy bar in half and pressed Quatre's share at him. They stood under the harsh street light in the parking lot between the convenience store and the cafe next door. As he watched, one of the baristas came toward the door and flipped around the open sign to closed. There were still people leaving, drifting out in lingering ones and twos as Duo ate his chocolate and drew a two hour walking radius in his head.

"Trowa!" Quatre tore off across the lot with a shriek. Duo nearly choked. It was absolutely Trowa strolling out from the coffee shop, and Quatre barreled into him with enough force that it actually knocked the boy back a step.

"Son of a bitch," said Duo. Relief made his knees weak, and he jelly-legged over to get a better look at Trowa, to make sure it was really him after all that fucking panic. Not that he wasn't thrilled, of course, but now that the danger was unfounded he just felt like slapping Trowa stupid for all the heartache given to poor Quatre.

"Quatre?" He wrapped arms around the rapidly dissolving chaos of Quatre shattering into broken end-of-the-world sobbing. Trowa glanced up and caught sight of Duo advancing."What are you…?

Quatre was trying to explain, but now that the dam had burst he was clearly unable to withhold the flood of emotion. Only fractured not-words rose out of his efforts. Trowa hushed at him and soothed circles over the boy's back. Duo inched the two of them away from the cafe entrance so as not to draw a crowd of curious spectators.

"Quatre, shh. Hey, shh." Trowa seemed more bewildered than anything, like he was too fucking dense to realize his own history of bad decisions meant people got frantic when he disappeared. Duo thought it best to just stay uninvolved, despite the curious looks Trowa kept shooting him.

"Trowa. I thought, that you. Nng—" managed Quatre. It was the highest level of coherency he'd yet reached.

"That I?" Trowa looked again to Duo.

Duo huffed an exasperated sigh. There was only so much patience he could maintain. "That you'd tried to off yourself again, Trowa. Quatre called Catherine and, poof, there went your alibi and up went the five-alarm breakdown. What the fuck else do you think would happen if you skipped out without so much as a 'be right back' to anyone?"

Trowa's eyes widened. "Is that what you thought, Quatre?"

Quatre clung to him and nodded.

"I'm sorry," said Trowa. "God, Quatre. I'm so sorry."

Despite the potential heartwarming mushiness of the scene before him, Duo felt a small chill run up his spine. Something twitched at him, some nuance of Trowa's still unfamiliar voice. Maybe he was just jumping at shadows, or at last indulging in the pessimism he'd so far denied, but something wasn't right.

"Please don't," whimpered Quatre. He buried his face deep into the curve of the taller boy's shoulder, clutching at him with sorrowful desperation. "Trowa, please. You can't."

"No, I…" Trowa stroked a hand over the back of Quatre's head. "I wasn't. I wouldn't. That's not what happened. Quatre, that's not – I won't,okay?"

And there it was. Duo had spent too long reading everything off Trowa's face and being ignorant of his voice, so, sure, it made sense that he couldn't figure it out by the shaky timbre of speech alone. From where he stood the street light caught against Trowa's expression, illuminating the details that Duo needed to make everything click together; Trowa was lying.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Oho. I was able to update much sooner than expected. That's always a pleasant surprise, especially given the circumstances of what's happening in the story. Until next time! Thank you for reading.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	94. Fixing Things

LSC / 10-06-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Four: Fixing Things)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 94

**Fixing Things**

* * *

The sofa cushions were going to stain. Heero stood over them with a wad of damp paper towels in one hand a bottle of cleaner in the other. He'd been working at the doomed cleaning effort ever since Duo and Quatre left. One of his co-workers had given in the sofa for free in the first place, so the most effort he had ever put into its acquisition and maintenance was helping to carry the thing into his apartment. There was a larger stain on the underside of the cushion, hence why Gonzales had replaced it. At least the hot chocolate dribbles were small and fairly unnoticeable within the larger paisley pattern.

Heero did not see the purpose in buying furniture when so many people threw out perfectly usable things. He understood that normally stains were associated with poor hygiene and slobbery. Despite still being useful, shirts with ketchup stains were inappropriate to wear outside the apartment. His work clothes were the exception, as Heero learned after his third request for a new uniform within the first month of employment. His boss had laughed at the explanation. _Never trust a clean mechanic_, he'd said. _Grease just shows he's been working hard_.

Heero always tried to work hard. He liked his job well enough. It had not been easy to find satisfactory employment after graduation. His academic performance had been less than stellar, so the few universities to which he had applied and been accepted failed to offer sufficient scholarship funding. He'd only applied because the school guidance counselor suggested; she said most people went to college after high school, and that if he attained a scholarship it would not cost anything. He'd been relieved to be denied funding for school. None of the universities had been local.

The telephone rang, jolting Heero free of his thoughts. He tossed the paper towels into the trash before snagging the receiver free of its cradle. "Hello."

"Oh," said a voice. "Hello, Yuy."

"Yes." Heero answered even though it hadn't been a question. "Who is this?"

"This is Wufei Chang. I am returning Maxwell's call. Is he there?"

"No." Heero scowled down at the countertop. He did not approve of Duo's friendship with the boy and was well aware the hostility ran both ways. He preferred Quatre's calming influence to Wufei's antagonism, or even the hot-headed Zechs or silent Trowa. Duo was a poor judge of character on occasion, and Heero included himself in that assessment. He just hated having it thrown in his face by someone with multiple personalities.

"Ah," said Wufei. "Do you know when he will return?"

"No."

"I see. Do you even know where he is?"

Heero nearly said no again, because that was the truth, but the accusatory tone drew him into a careful hesitation. "Yes," he said instead. That was also the truth, because Heero knew that Duo was with Quatre, and they were both looking for Trowa. He didn't like to lie.

"All right. Well. At least there's that. Unless, oh – that would be just like you, wouldn't it?" said Wufei. "Did you have Maxwell committed already?"

"No," snapped Heero. "He doesn't want to go back."

"Well of course he doesn't," said Wufei. "He didn't want to in April either, but that certainly didn't stop you then. I'm surprised to hear it would stop you now."

He did not like being reminded of that messy incident in the spring, although everyone seemed inclined to bring it up whenever possible. "Things are different now."

"Are they? What are you going to do when Maxwell turns self-destructive? And he will, you know, the longer he's off his medication."

"I know how to handle Duo."

"Ah, yes," said Wufei. "I've seen you handle him."

Heero grit his teeth around something very rude. "I am trying to do what is best for him."

"What's best for Maxwell certainly isn't _you_. If you cared anything for him you would see that. Well. I've had my say. If Maxwell isn't in there's no point in me tying up the line. Goodbye, Yuy."

Heero hung up the phone. He stared at it for a moment before knocking the whole thing to the floor with a violent sweep of his hand. The phone bounced off the tile with a terrible ringing crack, hard enough that Heero feared he'd broken it. He knelt to examine the damage. One of the plastic nubs had come free from the base. He could fix that. Heero righted the phone on to the counter with a slight pat of apology.

Things had to be different now. That couldn't be a lie; he hadn't felt the words were a lie until Wufei dismissed them so readily. Duo did seem changed, or at least improved, since his first runaway attempt. He'd been so disoriented, so incomprehensible and wound tight. Heero hadn't known what to do except get him off the streets and somewhere safe. He'd tried to make the right decision and ended up nearly destroying Duo with his carelessness.

Even as Heero tried to reassure himself, contradictions sprung to mind. There'd been the fight over the sketchbook, the one he'd kept from their school days. Of course Heero knew it had been wrong to take Duo's drawings in the first place, but he'd suffered enough for that already. Duo hadn't come back from his session with the guidance counselor, leaving Heero to fear he'd inadvertently gotten the boy expelled. It wasn't until later he learned the truth, that Duo had been diagnosed and sent away for treatment. He thought for sure that would the end of things between them, that Duo would never return to school, but they'd sent him back after a few weeks. He bought Duo a new sketchbook and intended to make a confessing apology for stealing the old one, but somehow that never happened. Heero had been afraid of the reaction. He felt responsible for ruining Duo's life with doctors and lithium and hospitals in the first place.

Life would be much simpler for Heero if only Duo took better care of himself. He never seemed as concerned over his illness as everyone around him. Heero had read a lot on the subject, or at least as many books that existed at the public library on the subject. Maybe Duo had not. No, Heero knew that Duo hadn't read any of the books, so it was better to think in terms of _maybe_ Duo should read them.

Heero consulted his calendar. _Work 6am-5pm_ for tomorrow and_ grocery shopping _right after. Tuesday was no better in terms of scheduling, or any day later in the week. Heero carefully moved groceries from Monday to Wednesday, when he got off work at four, and wrote a trip to the library into the newly freed evening. Hopefully he still had enough food in the house to feed himself and the others. That had become difficult lately.

Work, 6am. Heero needed to be sure his alarm was set correctly, even though he usually woke on time without its reminder. He'd added a note recently to warn again forgetting to turn the alarm off afterward, so as not to wake Duo. It ran contrary to the older, faded note about remembering to turn the alarm on before bed. Not that he really needed the alarm. The only time he'd ever been late to work was when the elevator jammed, trapping him between floors until the fire department came to wedge open the doors.

As Heero brushed his teeth for bed, he thought once more about what Wufei had said. Not that he considered the boy's opinion especially valid given the circumstances, but potentially some grain of truth lay amid the careless barbs. He did care for Duo. He cared for him enough to be concerned for him, but Duo interpreted concern as hostility. His independent streak ran wide and deep, born of being alone for so long. No parents, no siblings, no family at all, just a string of foster homes with conditions ranging from neglectful to downright abusive, to hear Duo tell of his childhood. _Nobody's looking out for Duo except me_, he'd told Heero once, very early in their acquaintance.

Sometimes Heero wished things could go back to how they were _before_ Duo's diagnosis. The fantasy never went far, because when he tried to imagine Duo any other way it felt unfair, like cheating. Heero frowned at his reflection. He just wanted Duo to be safe. And happy. Hopefully Duo would return soon. And with good news, of course. Heero had not realized how empty his apartment felt with only him in it.

Heero was in bed staring up at the ceiling when he remember the security system. When Duo and Quatre came home they'd have no way to get into the building. Heero wasn't sure he'd be able to hear the buzzer from the bedroom. He glanced at the alarm clock; it was still early in the evening, comparatively, but he was tired and needed to be up early.

The solution came by dragging the sofa directly beneath the speaker there by the front door. It took Heero some effort, but he'd managed to haul the thing off the curb and up into his apartment in the first place, so moving it across the room was at least easier than that. Heero brought his pillow in from the bedroom and settled across the sagging cushions.

Just when he'd gotten comfortably arranged, the buzzer let out a loud burst of noise. Heero glared at it. He sat up and slapped a hand over the admittance button without bothering to turn on the speaker. Now he needed to move the couch back across the room. Heero sat there a moment longer, stalling. Maybe Duo would help him, if he asked. The work would be easier with someone to lift the other end.

A knock came, more subdued than Heero expected. Duo often preferred a continuous drumming or a rhythmic tapping, rather than anything approaching polite or appropriate. Heero got up to unlock the door.

"Uh, hey," said Zechs. He wore nearly pressed khakis under a long-sleeved dress shirt in a pale-blue sort of color. He slouched with both hands jammed into his front pockets. His gaze didn't quite meet Heero's open stare.

"Hello," said Heero, out of sheer reflex. He stepped aside to let the boy into the apartment.

"Oh. I, uh. Just wanted to get my stuff, actually. I'm not staying."

It was a good thing Heero hadn't lugged the sofa back into place already. "All right," he said. "Come in."

"Thanks." Zechs crossed over the threshold as if it were rigged with explosives. "Are you the only one here?"

"Yes."

"Huh. Well. That's lucky for me. I won't be long." He glanced at the displaced couch with a puzzled expression but didn't say anything about it.

Heero wasn't sure if he should offer the boy anything, like a bag for his things, or assistance collecting them. He decided to stay by the door rather than do either of those things. Duo would be pleased when he came home, considering how they'd spent most the morning trying to locate Zechs.

After a few minutes, much longer than Heero would have expected the packing to take, Zechs came out carrying a red bundle under one arm, presumably with the rest his clothes wrapped up into the fabric. As he came across the room and plunked the bundle down on to the arm of the sofa, Heero saw it was a sweatshirt, tied up by the sleeves. Zechs frowned at him in a way Heero found disconcerting. "All right," the boy said. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," said Heero. He must have missed an earlier statement defining what waylaid items Zechs needed.

"Well, shit. Of course you probably don't know. You don't seem the type to pilfer. Mind if I look around? Duo probably stuffed them somewhere."

"All right," said Heero. One of Zechs's shirts must have gotten mixed in someone else's laundry by mistake. He went to search his closet. Zechs banged around in the bathroom, looking in all the drawers and cabinets. Heero hoped he didn't make a mess of things. All the clothes in the closet were either his or Duo's, judging by the size, but he held up an unfamiliar black t-shirt anyway. "Is this it?"

"What?" Zechs slammed a drawer shut and poked his head through into the bedroom. "No, that's not... That's not what I'm looking for. Hey, sweep between your mattress. Maybe he stole a page out of my book."

"The mattress?" Heero was not entirely sure he was following the conversation.

"You mind if...? Thanks." Zechs got a shoulder into the mattress and lifted it up from the box spring. His arm lashed through the space and knocked the fitting sheet askew. Heero's fingers twitched to go fix it, but he refrained. "Damn," said Zechs. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It wasn't like I was going to use them, you know? Ah, what the hell. If Duo does something stupid with the lot of them I'm gonna feel like shit."

"I don't understand," said Heero. "What are you looking for?"

"Uh." Zechs ran a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands off his face. "Some little bottles. Then again, maybe Duo should just have them. All fun in moderation, I guess. All right, fuck it." Zechs set his hand against the bed and stood.

Heero followed him toward the door. "Duo can't drink."

"Who said anything about – oh, right." Zechs grabbed his clothes off the sofa. "Not that kind of bottle. Little plastic ones that go rattle-rattle with anti-crazy candy. Swiped them off a doctor and everything, so, there you go."

Heero frowned. "Duo doesn't like to take his medication."

"Well why the fuck did he lift my stash then? Don't worry about it," said Zechs. "Thanks for the hospitality."

Heero opened the door for him. "I will tell Duo and Quatre you came by."

Zechs flipped a dismissive hand at him. "Don't bother." He walked down the hall with an air of finality. Heero stood in the doorway of the apartment watching until the elevator doors slid open.

He nearly just locked the door and laid back down to sleep, but the unnerving strangeness of the whole encounter worried at him. He was missing something. Heero went to the window and looked down at the street. A woman stood leaned up near a sleek red coupe parked out front. Between the platinum knot of her hair and the drifting plume of cigarette smoke, Heero recognized her. They'd met once outside the hospital.

As Heero watched, Zechs came out of the building and approached the car. The woman, his mother by Heero's figuring, discarded her cigarette and pushed up from the side of vehicle. She took Zechs's small accumulation of possessions, trading the bundle for a light kiss on the cheek. Zechs shrugged out from the affection and crossed around to the side of the car.

Heero returned to his temporary bed on the sofa. He simply could not derive a solution or explanation from the influx of new information. Not without thinking it through more thoroughly by compiling a list, and it was far too late for him to get started on a new project. Whatever Zechs meant with his accusations of thievery against Duo could wait.

No sooner had he situated the pillow and blanket and everything just so – he fell asleep. Or, some blip of unconsciousness that was like sleeping but restless. He work confused by the angles of the shadows and the lumpy cushion at his back. Already he'd grown accustomed to Duo wrapping close to him at night, and the unexpected absence caused him concern. He wondered at the time as if his strategy of staying near the door had worked, but he fell back asleep before any further, serious inquiry could be made.

He dreamed of Duo on the roof of the warehouse, that summer after graduation. Despite their promise to stay in touch after Heero left school, he'd been afraid of never seeing Duo again. With his long braid and bewitching smile and infectious laugh, Duo was beautiful. He was charming and outgoing and Heero was not. He was none of those things. He found it inexplicable that Duo returned any amount of interest in him, let alone affection.

Of course Duo was different now. He'd changed, ever since they sent him away over winter break. There was something wrong, and Heero worried it was his fault. He'd only wanted to help. When he expressed these concerns to the school counselor, she reassured him that it would be fine. That he'd done the right thing by bringing her Duo's drawing and explaining about the dark mood. Heero had hoped Duo meant it when they exchanged numbers and promised to call.

And he did. Duo called and invited him to come visit a few months after Heero left the school. He'd even sounded like his old self, bright and happy and full of energetic ideas. That whole last term of school, after he'd come back from the clinic or hospital or wherever he'd gone to be fixed, Duo wavered in some strange, subdued state of being that worried at Heero. Made him worry he'd broken Duo when all he wanted to do was help.

They'd met in the empty field behind the school on a Saturday. Duo in his typical black, like a shadow in the bright summer sun but grinning and laughing as he teased and flirted with Heero in the ways that made him silent and awkward. It was as if the entire winter absence and the difference of spring never happened. Heero didn't understand then, how to read the edge in Duo's smile, or what the dark circles under his eyes meant. The frenetic rhythm of Duo's words made up for Heero's tongue-tied adoration, and the disconnected flurry of lofty goals and dreams appealed to Heero because they spoke of a future between them.

_Let's get a house together, you and me, and we can have a garden with nothing but weeds, because no one really likes them. It can be the garden orphanage for all the fuck ups like me and like you, the plants that no one wants, like these dandelions or this patch of clover or - here, here, these little flowers, don't step on them. We can have a ton of flowers and sell them in huge bouquets to anyone who wants them, just give them away like a donation. Wouldn't that be great, Heero? Let's go this way, to that old rundown warehouse, the one where those seniors got caught fucking back in March. Do you remember that, Heero? Did you know them? _

_It's so boring here without you. I miss you lots and lots, so thanks for coming to see me today. You should stay here. Re-enroll. Become a teacher, you can teach shop class, that was always your best subject anyway. I'll teach art, since I like to draw, or maybe English since I like to write and read, or music since I like to sing. I'll teach everything except math, you can teach math since you were always better at that than me. I'm going to call you every week for homework help after summer break is over and the term starts because I've got that hard math with all the extra squiggles and you're good at figuring out the squiggles._

Heero wanted the dream to end before Duo climbed to the roof. He'd gone into some terrible state in between sleeping and being awake where emotion curled and tangled and confused him. He wasn't sleeping, this was real, this had happened – but Duo had to come down from the roof, it was too high up, the dream had to end before it changed from memory. He needed to tell Duo something important, to get him off the roof, the dream was changing on him, deviating from memory in that horrible way that nightmares often did—

"Heero, wake up. Hey. Come on."

Light and shadow went all the wrong ways across the ceiling. Someone was leaning over him, a soft weight into the couch cushions and against Heero's side. Fingers tickled over the his forehead and combed through his hair.

"Duo?"

"Yeah," he said. "There you are. I was starting to wonder. What are you doing out here on the sofa? And why is the sofa right next to the door?"

Heero pulled himself upright. He felt shaky and unsure, knocked sideways by the dream. The darkness of the room meant it had to still be deep in the night. Duo set a hand against his arm and drew a caress slowly up to Heero's neck and around. Some unknown gentleness came out of the gesture, heightened by the sweet tenderness of his voice. "Heero? You okay, buddy? You're all wiggly looking."

Whatever that meant. Heero nodded, because it seemed appropriate.

Duo glanced at the speaker panel. "Were you waiting for me? Oh, Heero… Sorry for being so late. I figured you'd be out like a light. I just busted through your window again for nothing. Here, come to real bed."

Heero let Duo pull him up by the hand. He remembered to snag his pillow and the blanket both. They needed to move the couch back, but Duo's hand was so warm and soft against his, and he was still so very tired. The blanket dragged behind him, snagging against the carpet as Duo led him into the bedroom.

Once arranged into the bed, Heero found the end of Duo's braid and carefully pulled free the hair tie. Duo's hair tended to tangle if he slept in the braid. Drowsiness rendered his fingers slow and clumsy, but Heero knew to always be gentle. The long plait unraveled obediently under Heero's drifting attention. He remembered the first time he'd ever seen Duo with all his hair unbound. There was such intimacy in getting to brush his fingers through the long, loose waves that Heero treasured. Duo hardly ever took his hair down.

Soft puffs of breath came against Heero's neck as Duo nuzzled close. "God, this is nice," Duo whispered. "You have no idea how much I need this right now."

He'd been looking up at the warehouse roof again, trapped between sleep and wake, and the quiet hush of Duo's voice made Heero jolt. "Hn?" Heero's hand had gone still, but the braid still held together toward the nape of Duo's neck. He fumbled an attempt to get at the last bit.

Duo's hand closed over his. "Hey… Don't worry about it. I got it. Just go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you. I selfishly didn't want to try wedging myself on to the couch cushions, and I definitely didn't want to cuddle up solo after everything that's happened."

Heero forced his eyes open. He needed to stay awake, because something was bothering Duo. Of course, Trowa. And, yes – Heero pieced together a bit more out of his soporific thoughts. "Nns Quatre?" He slurred together enough sounds to resemble a question.

"Hm?" Duo stretched against him, lithe and flexible like a cat. "Oh, he's at Trowa's."

"S'okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Found him, obviously. Figured Quatre could talk Catherine down from def-con four or whatever. I'd just get in the way or get busted. Stuck around to make sure she didn't kick Quatre out or call the cops at least. So, yeah." Duo sighed. He could express a lot of emotion in a single huff of air.

"What?" asked Heero. He stroked a hand through Duo's hair and let his eyes drift shut again.

"Nothing. It's just. The whole fucked up weekend, you know? Wufei out of nowhere and Zechs running off and this mess with Trowa – Goddamn, Trowa _talks_ now. He's been talking to Quatre for months. That's so… I don't even know. I can't even guess. Wufei's about the only person who could understand how flipped this makes everything, but he hates me now or something, I don't know. I guess maybe Relena or Dorothy would understand or, oh hell, Doctor Richards. It'd almost be worth it to see the look on his face if I could get Trowa to tell Dickie to fuck off and die in a fire. I don't think he's okay with it either, what with this… Whatever this was. This scare, or, I don't know. Ah, fuck. He will or he won't, and there's not much I can do about it tonight. Or him, for that matter, so…"

Duo snuggled into him and lingered a line of caress along Heero's chest. His hands moved low to slip beneath the waistband of Heero's boxers. "Mmn, hey," said Duo. His was low and husky. "I know you're probably tired, but, well seeing as how we're both up..." Duo chuckled, seemingly careless, but Heero caught the undercurrent of apprehension. Something had spooked Duo, and there was a desperation in the way he kissed Heero. It reminded him of the night of their fight over the sketchbook, except Heero was pretty sure he hadn't done anything wrong this time.

Heero shifted on to his back at Duo's guiding insistence. Duo led with hands and hips and mouth, bundled energy compared to Heero's drowsy lethargy. Heero rubbed his hand over Duo's bare thigh as the other boy straddled him, a shadow against darkness. The calluses across Heero's palm caught against the whisper-soft skin, and Duo murmured a steady stream of encouragement. Heero traced his hand across the curve of thigh and around, wanting to be gentle with Duo.

Duo must have wanted otherwise. He took the lead away from Heero, and they were joined before he could possibly be ready. Duo cried out, the pitch and tone cutting panic across Heero's thoughts. Alarm flagged his enthusiasm; their first time, Heero hadn't known any better and rushed things. Duo'd been either too stubborn or too young and naive himself to say anything, and Heero hadn't realized until later he'd caused pain rather than the intended pleasure. Heero gripped Duo's hips to hold him still, but Duo flexed and arched against him with a whimpering moan.

"No, Heero. It's okay. I'm okay," he whispered. "Please, Heero."

Cautiously Heero released his hold. He lingered a caress over Duo's hip, rubbing his thumb in a slow circle against the tender flesh. Duo rocked against him in response, working out the difficulty until their motions together became smooth. An incoherent stream of prayers and curses gave way to short, gasping breaths as Duo neared his peak. His fingers clutched and curled into the fabric of Heero's shirt, kneading at him with an increasing erratic rhythm.

Heero met each bucking thrust with a slow, steady roll of his hips until Duo broke, tumbling against him with a hitched sob of release. Heero sat upright and took Duo into his arms like gathering broken glass. Duo clung to him, twitching with aftershocks. When Heero gently slid free of their connection, Duo tensed with a quick, involuntary wince that betrayed his discomfort. Echoing distress set Heero to frowning as he tucked stray hair back behind Duo's ear.

"Oh, man," said Duo. His voice shook like leaves in the wind, dry and just as fragile. "That was, goddamn." He shuddered in a breath and let it out in an unsteady, airy laugh. "Okay, so, I totally get what Quatre was talking about with Trowa now. Nothing like a hard fuck to reset the panic switch."

Duo often said things that made little sense to Heero. Rather than point out the obvious, however, Heero smoothed and petted at Duo's hair to bleed out his own rather considerable worry. He wrapped an arm over Duo's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

"Hmm? Heero?" Duo tipped into him and hissed. "Oh, ow. Fuck me, that hurts."

"I'm sorry," said Heero swiftly. "Duo, I'm sorry."

"What? What for?" Duo turned round owl-eyes at him.

"I hurt you."

"What? Oh. Oh, fuck. No, Heero. Stop it. Don't say that." Duo cupped a hand against the back of Heero's neck and brought their lips together into a brushing kiss, tender and sweet. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

Heero hesitated. He was thinking of their disastrous first time together, and how afterward he'd caught Duo crying in the shower and thought maybe the younger boy didn't like him after all. Or maybe the fight after the sketchbook, when Heero lost his temper and acted on brutal instinct, without consideration for the trusting intimacy that Duo offered him. The melancholy that followed must have been Heero's fault for triggering the downward swing of Duo's mood.

"Heero? What are you...? Hey." Duo tipped his face into the range of Heero's blank staring. "I'm fine, okay? Just a bit sore, and that's my own damn fault. Not yours. Ah, fuck, I'm so sorry, baby – I should have thought that through a bit more. I was just, I don't know, freaked out and, shit. I'm sorry."

Heero ran his fingers through Duo's hair, intending to be reassuring with the gesture. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Shit. No, of course. You didn't, okay? I'm fine, really."

Duo, fifteen and always so sarcastic and bright and funny, with his gorgeous braid and heart-shaped face and ready smile, huddled against himself under the beating hot water and sobbing, all because of Heero, seventeen and stupid with lust. _I'm fine_, Duo had insisted before running away, and then he missed the next two days of class under the excuse of a stomach ache. Like so many other difficult things between them, they never talked about it afterward, but Heero figured out his mistake quick enough when he broke the firewall encryption on the library computer and did some research.

"Hey." Duo snapped his fingers in front of Heero's face. "Stop that, seriously. Look at me. Don't feel guilty or ashamed or like you have to apologize for anything. You're good to me, okay? You're always good to me, way better than I deserve. You're the best thing that ever happened to my no-good fucked up life. When everything else goes to hell, I've still got you. You're like my fucking rock, Heero, or, I don't know – poetic shit like how you're a blanket against the winter or, or, shelter from the storm. If anything were to... Shit, I'm going to go all weepy. Goddammit, Trowa. I blame you." Duo scrubbed a hand into his eyes.

"Don't cry," said Heero. He meant to sound kind, but it came out as a command.

Duo laughed, but there were tears on his cheeks. They glinted like diamonds in the slanting street light that leaked through the cheap blinds. "Okay. Cool it on the crazy, I hear that. It's just the whole stupid mess really got me tied around in super-spaz knots. I really fucked this up. Look at me. I come in here, wake you up out of dead sleep like four fucking hours before you have to be awake for work anyway, drag you back into bed, spout a bunch of crazy at you, and then go and use you like a cock-powered anti-psychotic drug-trip tranquilizer. Which didn't even work, so, way to go Duo."

Heero wasn't about to try sorting out the entire explanation. He focused on the fearful timidity in Duo's eyes, rather than the self-deprecating smile, and instead of listening to the individual brash words, he heard the tremulous weakness in them. One of the colorful phrases stuck, and Heero's brow twitched into a furrow as he puzzled out what he could. A yawn interrupted his scowling contemplation.

"Ah," said Duo. "You need sleep. Right. Back to lala-land with you. I'd shower off the mess, but fuck if I'm spending the night with wet hair. We'd both drown. I'll toss everything into the wash tomorrow while you're at work, okay?"

"Okay," agreed Heero. He didn't really care about the sheets or his shirt or his boxers, wherever they lay lost within the tangle of cast-off bedding. He cared more about the stiff, awkward way that Duo settled into a curl around him, or the fact that the sheen of his startling violet eyes stayed damp as he stared up at the ceiling.

Keeping Heero from his own groggy willingness to sleep was Duo's distinct lack of interest in doing so; he could tell just by the careful pattern of the boy's breathing that he wasn't tired. "You sleep too," mumbled Heero.

Duo sighed. "Can't. All keyed up. Like. In the bad way. I know, don't say anything, please don't say anything like I'm too stupid to – Woah, yup, sorry about that, not sure where I was trying to take that little spike of crazy. Hey, but on the bright side I know I'm flipping out, so that's a gold star on my sheet. Don't worry, I don't plan on doing anything other than cuddling the snuff out of you for the rest of the night. In fact, I'm going to shut up now. Right. Right now." Duo twisted, burying his face into the pillow and quite a bit of his own voluminous hair. Tension shivered over his shoulders.

Heero tried to rub comfort into the back of Duo's neck. The gesture grew heavy and then stilled as he drifted off, but the puzzle from earlier clicked into place enough to drag him back. "Take one of your pills," suggested Heero. The words came out thick and slurred with sleep, but coherent enough.

"What pills?" Duo's voice came muffled by the pillow. Heero must not have spoken clearly after all. He started to explain, about Zechs and the missing bottles, and how he wasn't mad about Duo having taken them if they would be useful to him in circumstances such as this, but the last bit of struggle to stay awake slid sideways. He could tell Duo in the morning.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for all your kind reviews and encouragements. I needed them this week to stay afloat. I'm sorry for the slight delay with the update; I've been pulling a lot of long days. Part of this chapter got written on the back of receipt, for crying out loud. Until next time, which will hopefully be soon!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	95. The Liar

LSC / 10-11-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Five: The Liar)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 95

**The Liar**

* * *

They knew. They all knew. They knew, and he'd never be able to hide in silence again. Nine years wasted, nine painful years of keeping all his secrets so close to his heart they burned, and now the fires were spreading and bringing down his whole life in smoke and ash and pain. Trowa stood on the precipice of disaster and felt the wild wind of surrender urging him down into the icy waters, waves crashing on the rocks except he lived nowhere near an ocean.

He considered finding the ocean. Just driving out on the highway until the gas gauge dropped to empty and beyond and the car stuttered out and night fell and cold descended. He'd read a story about that once, about somewhere who did that in the desert. They drove and drove and when the police found the car they were gone, and when the search party found the bodies it was too late. But he didn't live anywhere near the desert either, and October wasn't cold enough.

What he did have was Quatre, wrapped around him and shivering from the stress of the terrible, stupid mess Trowa caused with his own senseless indecision. He should have known better than to linger so close to the apartment, but oceans and deserts and long empty highways required a car and Catherine needed hers, so he'd left that behind and remembered to leave the keys where she would find them. It didn't seem fair otherwise, although Trowa knew he was being unfair enough already by sticking around as long as he had. When it came down to it, he was a failure, plain and simple, and now he was stuck with the horrendous consequences in the form of Duo's sharp-tongued accusations and Quatre's heart-broken pleading. What else could he do except surrender and deny and delay for the sake of sweet, dear, gentle Quatre who deserved better - what else could he possibly do except lie?

"Well. Glad to hear this was just a big misunderstanding," said Duo. The arched tone made Trowa's palms itch with the sudden, intense urge to flee from the both of them. Duo set a hand against Quatre's shoulder. "See, Cutie-Q? Everything's okay."

Agony twisted through Trowa's gut, and he had to flinch his face away under the pretense of hugging Quatre to hide from Duo's bright, inquisitive stare. He needed them both to leave. He never should have stayed. An anxious, shameful sort of weight sunk into his fingers and toes and turned them numb. Forget oceans and deserts and stupid thoughts like that; he had something better and had lost his nerve because of Quatre. Who tipped a tear-streaked face up at him and braved a smile, fragile and hopeful and – Oh, _God_, Trowa nearly broke right there in the coffee shop parking lot.

"I'm s-sorry," said Quatre. Only he would be so apologetic about concern. He rubbed at his cheeks and snuffed away further tears. "Trowa, I'm sorry. I called Catherine. You're going to be in trouble now. I'm so sorry."

Trowa shook his head. He was already in trouble, but now having denied it he couldn't exactly backpedal. The truth would destroy Quatre. Trowa knew he was in too deep this time, he'd known that a few hours ago when he took the bus as far north as the routes went and then walked a bit further, just for good measure, until he found a suitable place. He'd known he was in too deep when his stomach clenched and panic shook his hands so that they dropped the bottle of water, and then he took the bus back and bought another bottle of water even though there had been plenty of gas stations and grocery stores in between. He'd come back but been too afraid to face Catherine and just as equally fearful of getting on a bus again, so he found somewhere stupid to hide until he got caught and ruined his chance. So, yes, he was in trouble.

"Speaking of your sister," said Duo. "I had to talk her out of calling the police."

Eyes averted, Trowa just shrugged. He was eighteen now; until the twenty-four hour mark came and went there wasn't much the police would do. Such a callous thought wouldn't be wise to say in front of Quatre, who was really all that mattered. That's what he had to stay focused on; getting Quatre calmed down and somewhere safe again.

"I'll talk to her," said Quatre softly. "Don't worry, Trowa. I'll go with you. I'll tell her..." His voice trailed off into stammering silence as some legitimate excuse for Trowa's behavior failed to solidify out of the damning evidence. Of course they'd all panicked when he turned out to be neither here nor there. Trowa knew they would, he just thought he'd make better use of his time. It wouldn't do to admit that now or he'd never get another chance.

Trowa glanced toward Duo. He reached for a plausible explanation and found one with too many edges, to brutally true for him to admit without feeling the sharp bite of everything coming down around him like shattered glass. Wide and trusting aquamarine eyes gleamed up at him as Quatre waited for some comforting lie. Words rose like bile in his throat. "I just needed to be alone," he said. There was enough truth in that to sound believable, but so much that it made him bleed.

Quatre nodded, stiff and wooden with his eagerness to believe anything Trowa said that wasn't goodbye. Quatre rose on to his toes, leaning close to Trowa's ear. His whisper tickled with shyness. "Please let me stay over. Please, Trowa. I'll tell Catherine whatever you want."

What he wanted was to be alone again, but he'd blown that window of opportunity – and with Quatre right in front of him, Trowa wasn't entirely sure what he wanted after all. His life had been so much less complicated before all this trouble began, and it didn't help his sorrow to know that he was cause of Quatre's distress. He never wanted to hurt Quatre, or Catherine, or anyone. He should have done a better job of things years ago. The scars on his forearms ached with regret.

Trowa closed his eyes briefly and tried to let go of all that. He just needed to get through this heartbeat and the next, and the one after that, and nothing more. He was going to start panicking again if he tried to stretch into a deeper future, the one with his silence broken and all his secrets tumbled out like flood waters. Nine years wasted, and it was impossible to hold any resentment for Quatre being the reason.

Quatre enclosed his hand over Trowa's, warm and soft. He tugged him forward, taking Trowa's lack of objection as agreement. They crossed the parking lot just like that, with Quatre leading him by the hand and Duo trailing after.

"Hey," said Duo. He bounced on his toes against the edge of the curb. "I better get rolling, if you're going straight back to Catherine. I mean. Yeah? I don't want to complicate things further. Since you're sure this was just a misunderstanding and everything. I'll walk you back safe and all that first. You're both welcome back at Heero's if things go south with Catherine, okay?"

"Okay," said Quatre. "Thanks for, you know."

"Sure." Duo grinned and ruffled Quatre's hair. He flashed a look at Trowa that entirely too suspicious. "Run up to the corner and wait a sec, will ya, Quibbles? I need to tell Trowa something super quick. It won't take long."

Quatre glanced up at Trowa, who shrugged as if his heart wasn't racing a thousand beats a minute, and reluctantly released his hand. When Quatre was out of earshot, Duo smacked a hand into Trowa's shoulder and snarled at him, "You better not be fucking around. Swear to God, Tro. Giving everyone a heart attack like that, what the hell were you thinking? All right, whatever, I'm not gonna spazz on you - I just wanted to say that next time you need to be alone just leave a fucking note or something. Don't just disappear on people, okay? And I'm serious about hiding out at Heero's if you need to. Until things blow over with Catherine, or... You know. I get why you're freaking out, yeah? But, listen, everything's going to be okay. No one has to know except me and Quatre, and I guess Heero, too, but you know he's not going to say anything and I won't either. Pinky-swear, cross my heart, swear to sacred fuck you can go back to being mute if that's what you need to do, okay? Just. Don't give up on us, okay?"

Years of practice let him keep a perfectly straight face against the shuddering terror of how close Duo's warning hedged to the truth. He managed to jerk his head up and down without coming undone entirely. Duo narrowed a look at him but said nothing further. They rejoined Quatre at the traffic light and crossed on the green to head toward Catherine's apartment. Each step brought him closer to some inevitable disaster far outside his control, and Trowa glanced longingly at the dark, open stretch of road. Quatre reclaimed his hand and guided their progress with a soft insistence. As unsteady as he felt, Trowa was grateful that his hand did not shake in Quatre's firm grip.

"This is where I leave you," said Duo. He nodded toward the low silhouette of the apartment building. "I'll wait around to make sure you don't have any trouble, okay-Q?"

Quatre nodded and squeezed Trowa's hand. When he failed to respond in kind, Quatre beat together another smile, so warm and loving that Trowa eventually managed to twitch his fingers into an answering squeeze. They crossed the final separating length of street and rounded the parked cars before Trowa's strength left completely. He staggered to a halt in the shadow of the staircase.

Quatre stopped as well, because tug as he might there was no way for him to budge Trowa's dead weight. "Trowa?" he asked in a hush. "What is it?"

Trowa turned his gaze up toward the apartment door. The living room lights glowed through the curtains and cast strange patterns through the metal grid of the stairs. Once he got inside the apartment … His chest grew tight at the collision of so many terrible things all at once. Quatre would spin a pretty, pacifying lie for Catherine, who would chide him with exquisite gentleness and her own excuses to his silence. And then Trowa would… he could feel the words curling in his throat like a serpent ready to strike. The sound of his voice would set her into years, maybe even anger once she figured out he could have been talking to her this whole time. His therapist would be notified, his prescription changed or upped or dropped entirely depending on how his next session went, with him _talking_ to the doctor, because they would know he could. Secret after secret would come bleeding out of him, all the nine years effort gone, and—

"Trowa? What's wrong? Here, sit. On the step, sit down." Quatre pushed at his shoulders to emphasize the suggested course of action. Trowa more or less obeyed by sinking in a half-collapse on the bottom stair. All together it was a far more graceful maneuver than the weak-kneed trembling in his legs deserved.

Quatre knelt in front of him and pressed two fingers into Trowa's neck, no doubt assessing the race-horse staccato pulse. He collected Trowa's hands into his own and rubbed comfort across the knuckles. "Trowa? Trowa, it's just a panic attack. Breathe slow, okay? Everything's fine."

_He_ sounded so calm about it, but then again if anyone would understand it had to be Quatre. Trowa remembered how helpless and angry he'd felt watching Quatre suffer through his own panic attack, that night of the drinking game, and how afterward they'd exchanged heated words in Catherine's car until Quatre admitted, yes, he'd been so upset because of Trowa. He had been crying in Zechs's arms because of Trowa. He'd run away in the first place because of Trowa. He never should have let Quatre get himself into so much trouble; constantly needing to lie and hide and be in danger of getting caught, hardly better than homeless.

And now Quatre knelt in front of him smiling sweetly, with gentle worry softening the already liquid hue of his eyes. Trowa nodded to the unspoken question and shifted to stand. Quatre followed him up and kept tight of his hand.

"Don't worry, Trowa. Everything is going to be okay."

The words washed over his forced distancing with resolute heartbreaking, kindhearted warmth. Trowa let them. He let Quatre's bizarrely calm strength flow around him, although surely not in the way the boy intended. Trowa nodded again, and they walked up the stairs together. It didn't matter what happened once they got inside the apartment. He just had to get through until the end.

* * *

Quatre hadn't quite figured out what he was going to tell Catherine. He wasn't entirely sure he understood what happened to Trowa earlier or what was happening to him now. All that mattered, the only thing that was important, was that they were together. As far as he was concerned, Trowa wasn't going to leave his sight for a good while. The tingly hysteria of the earlier searching abated the moment he'd found Trowa leaving the café. It left him feeling buoyant, afloat in a sea of calm by sheer determination. Crying wouldn't help him sort out Trowa's troubles, and certainly Trowa was in trouble.

The impossible thing for Quatre to tell was just how deep the trouble went. Trowa wore his unreadable expression, the same face he gave strangers or turned on the doctors with hostile indifference. Contrasting the outward stoicism was the panic attack on the stairs just then, but eve as his chest heaved like a bellows and his pulse thudded rapid-quick and jolting, Trowa's face never lost its empty calm. That worried Quatre more than anything, but he took all that worry and shaped it into something warm and strong to lure Trowa out from the cold, distant place he'd gone.

Quatre started to knock on the apartment door, but Trowa shifted past him and took hold of the knob. Of course Catherine wouldn't lock up if she suspected Trowa missing; he hadn't thought of that, but Trowa evidently drew the correct conclusion. The door swung open. Catherine bolted around at the sound; she'd been pacing a path near the television, and Quatre felt the brief flinching constriction of Trowa's hand in his at her outcry. "Trowa! Where—"

She moved toward him. Trowa took a half-step back, but Quatre had already nudged the door closed behind them. He hadn't meant to trap Trowa, but apparently he had done precisely that judging by the brief, flashing unsteadiness with which his green eyes cut to the door and then back to his sister's advance.

"Catherine," said Trowa. Very quietly, but it was enough to freeze her in place. She set the blown-open shock of her stare to Quatre for an arresting moment before snapping the whole of her attention to Trowa, who was looking instead at the carpet. Quatre mistrusted at once the helpless way in which he gave the smallest of shrugs and spoke again, "Catherine."

Catherine put a trembling hand in front of her mouth. Her eyes bounced against between the two of them, but Quatre felt almost as bewildered as she surely must and, besides, the least he could do to make up for his earlier error in front of Duo was let all his surprise show through now. Moments ago on the stairs, Quatre would have sworn that the bulk of Trowa's distress came from not wanting to surrender his silent shield between him and the world – everyone except Quatre, which set little pinpricks of shame into his spine when he recalled how flippant he had regarded Trowa's delicate separation of Quatre from everyone else. Maybe it was because he'd always known the velvet quality of Trowa's voice, but he'd never fully appreciated what it must have meant for Trowa abandon all communication.

_A guy doesn't stay silent for nine years without good reason_, Duo had said earlier. Quatre felt the truth of that as he tried to read whatever he could from Trowa's downcast face. It meant a lot to Trowa, his silence, but now he cast it aside for the same unknown reason as he'd taken it up in the first place. Trowa certainly didn't seem okay about it, either, and oh how that worried Quatre – he thought for sure that Trowa would take Duo up on his offer, that they'd all just pretend Trowa never said anything back at the flophouse. But, of course, Quatre had to admit that felt a bit naïve, despite Duo's earnestness, and Trowa clearly agreed. Talking in front of Duo seemed one thing entirely than bursting his secret to Catherine like this, and Quatre waited breathlessly for the fallout. He clutched at Trowa's hand.

"I'm sorry," said Trowa. He certainly didn't sound right, not at all, and Quatre realized with a cold shock that only he could possibly know that. No one else knew what Trowa was supposed to sound like other than him; Catherine couldn't possibly understand the tremulous quality to that normally smooth velvet tone. "Catherine, Quatre. I'm sorry for worrying you both."

"Oh," managed Catherine. Tears swelled into the dusky blue of her eyes, but it was a smile curving into her mouth rather than any sort of worry or frown. She didn't understand, but Quatre did. Ice trickled into his fingers and toes and down his spine as he understood with sudden clarity surely why Trowa had to be abandoning his carefully-won isolation.

Trowa pulled away with enough a jolting motion that Quatre actually let go. Not on purpose, of course; he'd spend the rest of his life clinging to Trowa's hand if he had to, but Trowa bolted from him like a rabbit scattering into the underbrush. Rather than go for the front door, which was where Quatre's flinched to cover as soon as he registered the disconnect, Trowa rushed for his room. The slam of the bedroom door made Quatre jump.

"Oh!" said Catherine again. She whipped her head toward the hall. "Trowa! Trowa, wait."

"No," said Quatre. He reached and fell shy of actually grabbing her arm. She turned toward him anyway, and Quatre flinched back with Sandy tucked half-hidden behind his thigh. "Um."

Catherine puzzled a bright-eyed, damp sort of look at him, but when Quatre failed to elaborate on his objection she went in pursuit of Trowa. She knocked softly before trying the knob. Since Trowa's room didn't have a lock the knob turned freely, but Quatre could tell by the sudden pop of her features into a frown that the door wouldn't actually open. "Trowa?" she called.

Quatre crept down the hall to join her. She swiveled to him in bewilderment. "You heard him, didn't you? You heard him talk?" She sounded excited, ecstatic even, but Quatre felt only the dull leaden weight of dread. He nodded anyways, still trying to look appropriately surprised.

She tried the door again. It went only a fractional amount before hitting resistance. If Quatre had to wager a guess, going by the contents of Trowa's room and the time it took him to bar the door, Trowa himself was likely the culprit. Which meant he could hear them perfectly clear, so Quatre gathered his nerves and spoke in the barest whisper possible. "Catherine? Maybe just, um. Let me? Alone, that is."

Catherine nodded and released her hold on the knob. She stepped from the door, and Quatre slipped into the vacant space. He scratched softly at the wood. "Trowa? It's me. Can I come in? Please."

A slightly smaller than Quatre-sized opening appeared between the door and the jamb, and taking his cue from the miniscule offering, Quatre squeezed himself through into the dark of Trowa's room. The door closed behind him as Trowa leaned back; he huddled on the floor as a makeshift doorstop just as Quatre had guessed. Trowa had his long legs drawn tight to his chest, and the look he gave up at Quatre was heart-sundering with qualm. He hunched himself together and averted his eyes, a hiding gesture that worked well with the long sweep of his bangs.

Quatre sunk to his knees and patted what he hoped was something reassuring into Trowa's shoulder before settling into a cross-legged blockade of the door, right there beside Trowa. Bit by bit he could feel the tension bleed out of Trowa. From the hall came the quiet sound of the television, obviously Catherine's ostentatious way of giving Trowa the space he clearly needed. Quatre could sympathize entirely with her perfectly justifiable excitement and considered it a minor miracle that she'd backed off so quickly.

"I must have been five years old, because I'd just started kindergarten but hadn't yet had my birthday," said Trowa. He didn't so much as whisper as seem to lack the strength for anything else. "It was a Saturday, and my mother took me to eat ice cream and see a movie in theaters. Afterward we went to the park, and she bought me a little packet of popcorn. I fed most of it to the ducks. I remember the exact dress she wore. It was navy blue with little stripes, and she wore a white cardigan in the theater but not at the park. She was so nice to me. So nice, when she barely looked at me otherwise. I thought I must have done something right. When her dates came home I had to sit in the hall closet – Sit Quietly, that's what I always called it, like it was some stupid game. I'd been so quiet it must have made her happy with me at last."

Trowa brushed a hand through his bangs, tossing them free of his face. Bitterness crept into his voice like melt water into snow. "I'd gotten one of the ducks to come right up to me and take the popcorn from my hand. When I turned to see if my mother was watching, she was gone. She was gone, and her car was gone, and the sun was so low in the sky I knew it was going to get dark. I was afraid of the dark back then, which made sitting in the hall closet all the harder. When I couldn't find her I wanted to cry, but you know what I did instead? I walked home. I don't even know how I did it. I just walked until I recognized something from the school bus route and followed the landmarks until I got home. There was her car in the driveway, and another car, and all the lights were on in the front. I knew she was going to be so happy to see me. She'd just forgotten me, that was all, forgotten me and gone home and when her date came over she must have thought I was sitting in the closet already. Sitting quietly just like she always asked."

Quatre wanted very much for Trowa not to finish his story, but he was powerless to interrupt. It would be an abject cruelty for him to hush Trowa now. The words seem to possess him, falling free of their own accord and dragging out all the hurt and longing bottled up inside.

"I remember the look on her face when she answered the door and saw me standing there. I don't think I'll ever forget it, not in a million years. That's when I knew. I knew she'd left me in the park on purpose, and I shouldn't have tried to follow her home. I don't know what she thought would happen. Like it would be that easy, but she didn't want me anymore. She'd never wanted me. I'd been a means to an end, but my father left her anyway and none of the men she met wanted a woman with another man's child. Until she met Catherine's father. I wonder," said Trowa. He swallowed. "I wonder – she told me I was lucky he liked kids, and I always wondered, what if he hadn't—"

"Trowa. Trowa, no. Don't – please, Trowa." Quatre threw his arms around Trowa in a futile attempt at holding the boy together. He tensed, and for a moment Quatre feared his helpless desperation would get rejected, but then Trowa tipped into him with a wretched moan.

"If he hadn't wanted me—" Trowa clutched him so tight that it hurt, but Quatre wasn't about to protest. "But I couldn't even, when she told me to, I couldn't. I—" Trowa sucked in a breath and let it out as a sob. "I can't. I'm sorry. I _can't_."

"You don't have to," said Quatre. He had no idea what they were talking about anymore, but senseless comfort poured out of him anyway. "It's okay, Trowa. Everything's okay." And maybe, just maybe, if Quatre said it enough times it would be true.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

This was another week where I really needed all your kind encouragement, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I'll work hard on updating again as soon as possible. Until next time.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	96. Honesty

LSC / 10-15-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Six: Honesty)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 96

**Honesty**

* * *

Catherine popped up from the sofa the moment she caught sight of Quatre not-quite sneaking out from the hallway. He hadn't expected her to still be awake, given the late hour and the fact she doubtlessly worked an early breakfast shift at the diner. The tips were better, she claimed, but Quatre suspected she'd gotten into the habit so as to make plenty of time to visit Trowa at the hospital in the afternoons.

Before she could say anything, Quatre lifted a quick shushing gesture and went to join her on the couch. She slowly sunk down into the edge of the cushion. The worried but hopeful intensity of her gaze unsettled him. Quatre knotted his fingers together and wished urgently for Sandy, who was instead on temporary loan to Trowa in the other room.

"How is he?" she asked in a hushed whisper. The sound of the television washed over the words and gave Quatre room to hesitate.

"Asleep." Or, at least he was pretty confident Trowa hadn't woken up while Quatre extricated himself cautiously from the room. It'd been hard going to get Trowa settled into bed, so Quatre hoped fervently he hadn't carelessly broken him out of that hard-won sleep. He'd first had to convince Trowa to abandon his fortification of the door, which he did only under strict promise from Quatre to make sure Catherine stayed clear of his bedroom.

Catherine nodded. Judging by the pinched look about her eyes, Catherine was fighting to stay awake herself. She wore her bathrobe clinched tight over nightclothes, and her face had that pinkish-pale, fresh-scrubbed look of being without makeup. "Did he talk again? Did he talk to you?" She actually leaned forward with giddy excitement when Quatre nodded. "What'd he say?"

Quatre considered the childhood memory Trowa revealed and felt a rush of agony. He'd been inconsolable afterward, leaving Quatre to prattle hollow comfort while seated upright against the headboard with Trowa wrapped around his waist. Sandy remained in the bed, in case Trowa should wake up while he was gone, and Quatre knew firsthand how reassuring the bear could be in times of grief.

"Not really," said Quatre. It was a splendid sort of non-answer that set Catherine's brow into a troubled furrow. "Um, that is. I - I was going to stay over, if that's okay."

"Of course," said Catherine at once. "It's so late as it is. You're welcome anytime."

Heat rushed into his cheeks at her earnest kindness, and Quatre dropped his gaze to the carpet. "Thanks. Hey, Catherine? I think, um." If he twisted his fingers into any more intricate of a knot they might break. Quatre took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I think we should keep an eye on Trowa."

Too late Quatre considered that she might take his words as criticism, as if Catherine wasn't already striving around the clock to keep Trowa safe. If anything Quatre was to blame for pulling him away from her watchful eye so many times as he had. He stole a fearful glance out at her from the fringe of his bangs.

Much to his surprise, Catherine merely nodded. "All right," she said. The shakiness of her voice betrayed what her calm words did not. "Did he say anything ... like that?"

Quatre hesitated before shaking his head. He wasn't entirely certain what Trowa had meant to say amid the jumbled denials that came pouring out of him at the tail end of his wretched story, but Quatre couldn't shake a definite feeling of dread. In the face of Duo's rough accusations Trowa said the right sort of promises, but that failed to reassure Quatre in the least. It was up to him, with Catherine's help, to keep Trowa safe. That was the entire reason he'd run from the hospital in the first place, and Quatre regretted letting himself get so terribly sidetracked with his own problems. Rashid and his father, they'd just have to wait. He'd call Rashid tomorrow, first thing, and call off everything. Trowa was more important. There was nothing as important to him as Trowa.

He dared to meet Catherine's steady gaze and found it full of warmth. Calm poured into him, like walking out into bright sunshine and feeling the pinprick of heat across chilled skin. His heart thudded once, twice, stuttering out a surrender as Quatre took a reckless sort of leap. "I was in the hospital with Trowa. That's how we met."

"What?" said Catherine. Confusion and concern fluttered over her features in rapid-fire succession.

"I didn't go to school with him. I just told you that because I thought – I thought it'd make things easier."

"Oh," said Catherine. She settled into full-out bafflement, although she didn't seem angry at all, and Quatre grabbed hold of that small encouragement.

"I'm sorry for lying. You've been very nice about everything. The thing is – I, um. I didn't... exactly, um. Oh, boy." Quatre squeezed his knees together, trapping his hands between them. He glanced askance at the hallway, toward the bedroom which contained both his bear and Trowa. "I didn't get released from the hospital, like Trowa did. I kind of, um, ran. Away. From there."

Catherine's mouth made a strange squiggling gesture, like maybe she was about to laugh but quickly suppressed the urge. "Do your parents know where you are?" She leveled the question at him with utter inscrutability, so that Quatre hesitated forever over the answer.

"Not really," he admitted. "And it's just my father. I was telling the truth about, um, that."

"Well," said Catherine. She gathered the robe together at her neck and puffed out an odd kind of chuckle. "I was right about something, at least. I kind of cornered that out of Trowa already. It's okay, Quatre. I really did mean it when I said you were welcome here anytime. This can be your home, too."

To his absolute horror an involuntary wash of tears suddenly made everything blurry and indistinct. He scrubbed a quick, shameful gesture across his eyes to clear them, and in the lulling distraction Catherine put her arms around him in what she surely meant to be a comforting hug. Quatre flinched terribly from her compassion, the whole of him jolting as if with static shock. He was more than anything startled by the suddenness of her touch, but nevertheless the soft press of her body against his sent a cold, shuddering tension over his shoulders and down his spine. His pulse raced toward tipping panic.

Catherine released him, abruptly enough that Quatre felt certain she must have detected his discomfort. "I'm sorry," she said. "Oh, I didn't mean to—"

"No, that's," stammered Quatre. "That's so kind of you. I'm sorry. I just." He brushed at his face again, harder, now utterly infuriated with himself for reacting the way he had. He found it impossible to explain further and fell silent, full of shame and self-loathing.

"It's okay," she said gently. She reached for his knee and then thought better of it. Her hand hovered for a moment with indecision before she withdrew carefully to her side of the couch. "I'm not really sure how I feel about your father not knowing that you're safe, though. He's probably worried about you."

Quatre mistrusted the careful way she watched him and remembered all her earlier bad assumptions and how Trowa warned him against her good intentions. He hopefully managed to keep a neutral expression, as much as possible given how he'd reacted to a stupid hug just three seconds prior.

"He's not..." Quatre bit his lip around what was probably not a lie but would definitely sound like one. He thought about Rashid over the telephone the other day and how never once did he say _your father is worried about you_ – no, it was_ I've been so worried _and _I am so glad you are all right_ and _your father will have to be told_ and Quatre begging him _please Rashid please don't tell Father_—

Catherine's hand tightened over her robe as she squirmed somewhat, as if wanting to embrace him again but needing to restrain herself. She settled for a smile as she soothed at him, "That's all right. We'll figure something out. Whatever you're comfortable with, Quatre. You don't have to tell me everything now. I really do want you to feel at home here."

Quatre mumbled something that wasn't even close to actual speech. Catherine's indulgent smile broke into a stretching yawn, only slightly muffled by her hand. "Goodness, is it late. I was hoping Trowa would... Well. There's tomorrow. Oh! What are we going to do about that? I'll have to call in, there's no way I can let Trowa borrow the car to take you to school, and I've got to be at work so early I can't easily drop you off first and then take him with me..."

"Oh," said Quatre. "Um. I, uh. Don't worry. I can stay here with Trowa while you're at work."

Catherine tapped the side of her head. "Of course you're not going to school, if your father doesn't even know where you are. You boys really put a lot of effort into pulling the wool over my eyes, didn't you?" She didn't seem irritated like he expected, not at all. Just sad, which was somehow so much worse. Quatre winced an apology, but she waved him away with an idle gesture. "I don't blame you. Who knows how I'd feel about all this if Trowa..."

Almost in unison they both turned their attention toward the closed bedroom door. Catherine stood up with another yawn. "It's good to have an extra pair of eyes on him," she said quietly. "Thank you."

Quatre nodded and edged away without seeming like it, before she got anymore ideas about hugging in her rush of gratitude. Or maybe he should embrace her, to make up for earlier. He wrapped his arms around himself instead. "Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight," said Catherine. "Oh, wait. If Trowa's going to be with you tomorrow..." She back-tracked over to where her purse slumped on the end of the coffee table. After a small pause she took the entire bag into her arms and began to rifle through it. She pulled up the orange prescription bottle.

Quatre held his palm out for her shake out a single flat tablet. "He takes it just after lunch," she told him. "And I've got the number to the diner on the fridge if you need anything. I'll try to squeeze out early if I can."

They exchanged goodnights again and parted ways. She took the purse into her bedroom with her, which struck Quatre as smart. Rather than go immediately into Trowa's room, Quatre detoured into the kitchen. Driven by the chilling image of long red scars, Quatre hunted through the drawers looking for anything sharper than a butter knife. He turned up nothing, which surprised him at first and set him to worrying that Trowa had already made a similar raid ahead of him. Before his concern could gain legs, Quatre tried to remember Catherine ever using a knife when making dinner. Of course Catherine would have already considered that. She was always so careful. Well, Quatre would be careful, too.

He whispered the bedroom door open just enough to slip inside. His eyes adjusted to the dark, shaping the shadows appropriately. Trowa lay on his side and curled to the wall, not exactly how Quatre left him but close to. Sandy peeked out from the curve of Trowa's arm, swapped into the gap that Quatre left behind. He carefully inched toward the bed with complete focus on being as silent as possible. Too late he remembered the trundle sheets, stored up above the washer, but even though Trowa's bed was on the small side Quatre figured he could probably tangle himself into the sliver of vacant space instead.

Quatre set his jeans into a pile beside Trowa's dresser before easing toward the bed. He'd nearly made it into place when Trowa shifted. He rolled to gather Quatre into the bedding and up against him. Sandy squished between them with the hard bump of his nose jutting into Quatre's shoulder. Green eyes found him distinct, unnerving alertness before Trowa hid his face into Quatre's neck and hair. He must not have been asleep after all, or Quatre's sneaking attempt failed. He smoothed a hand through Trowa's hair in silent apology. He'd just have to be more careful from now on.

* * *

Quatre woke in one of those disorienting moments in which the first few seconds brought an unknown sense of panic, like running late for something or Trowa trying to squeeze out from around him. He rolled into an empty but warm patch of bed and caught Trowa's hand before the other boy could get too far away. "Where're you going?" he asked thickly, voice clogged with drowsy half-awareness.

The mattress sunk as Trowa eased himself on to the edge of the bed. Quatre rose up into a sitting position and struggled against a yawn. Grey pre-dawn filtered in from the curtains and set the room to an eerie glow. "You don't have to be up," said Quatre. "You don't have to go to the diner today."

A frown crossed Trowa's face. Even half-asleep as he was, Quatre could tell instantly that Trowa was back into a silent type of mood. Which was completely fine with him, so he read everything he could into that slight frown and gave an answering smile. Or, tried to at least; the yawn broke free and stretched his mouth all out of shape. "Catherine said it was okay," he managed at last. "She'll take the car, and we'll just stay here."

He pulled gently at Trowa's hand to lure the boy back into bed. Cuddling into Trowa certainly felt nice, but Quatre mercenarily wanted to ensure that he'd stir awake again if Trowa tried to leave. It wasn't so much as he really thought Trowa might dodge out like a thief in the night, but he couldn't be absolutely certain otherwise. Trowa had lied about going to pick up Catherine from work, and he'd probably lied about the reasons why, and Quatre knew he'd eventually have to pin Trowa down on some honest answers. It seemed cruel in light of what secrets of Trowa's had already been ripped open and exposed like raw wounds, but the alternative was to risk losing Trowa, and Quatre knew that absolutely could not happen, ever. Whatever it took, whatever sacrifices he needed to make, even if Trowa hated him when everything was said and done.

Except not right now, not when Trowa's arms were so warm and tender around him, and Quatre let himself be lulled into something was kind of like sleeping but more like resting. His mind stirred fitfully around all that he knew about Trowa. There had to be some way to help him, besides simply loving him every last pitiful fiber of Quatre's entire being. Duo acted like that wasn't enough, or that it didn't matter – not to be callous, of course! Quatre wasn't trying to convince himself that Trowa didn't care about him, but Duo seemed to know what he was talking about and surely Trowa knew that he was surrounded by people who loved him.

If only Zechs were around, if only that! Quatre had tried to talk to him once about it, the night of the drinking game, and although that ended in a certifiable disaster, Quatre would never be able to forget the sympathy that prompted Zechs to show Quatre his own scars and speak openly about their source. _I don't know Trowa_, he'd said, but Quatre did know Trowa, so maybe if he really worked at it he'd would be able to understand why. He felt he'd come close to it last night, when Trowa talked about his mother. He'd be able to ask Catherine about that; Trowa's mother was her stepmother, after all, and what was it she'd said the other day? _After his mother died, Trowa just wasn't the sam_e. But he'd already stopped talking by then, so what could Catherine mean? Quatre tumbled that around in his not-sleeping sort of thoughts and tried to piece it all together.

Fourteen, Trowa had been fourteen when his mother died. Which would have made Catherine just old enough to take up guardianship of him, since they were four years apart in age. Whatever happened to Catherine's father? Quatre tried to remember if he knew that and came up with nothing. He'd have ask Catherine about that, too. They'd be able to speak honestly, now that he'd told her the more or less entire truth about himself. As much as he'd ever told anyone, except Trowa who knew about Rashid and—

Oh, Quatre would have to call Rashid later in the day. Maybe when Catherine came home, so he could have privacy without letting Trowa be alone. That's all they had to do, him and Catherine, at least for now, until Quatre could puzzle out the right sort of things to say to Trowa to make him feel less sad and desperate. Maybe if Trowa took up his silence again and kept it up long enough and everyone went along with the scheme he'd feel right again. Even to Quatre, even if he never wanted to say another word to Quatre ever again, that would be okay. He'd miss the way Trowa said his name and, oh, he would certainly miss hearing Trowa's bedroom whispers of affection, and when he said_ I love you_ with all kinds of shivering, husky, wonderful ways. Quatre would miss that, but he'd miss Trowa a ton of a lot more should the worst happen.

Now he was actually awake, not just stuck in between the two stages of consciousness, and fortunately with Trowa still available for snuggling. Brighter light drifted into the room now, and Trowa's hand moved over his arm in a slow, lazy pattern that indicate he was awake as well. Or had never gone back to sleep, but at least he'd been good enough to let Quatre get more-or-less another bit of snooze. He stretched slightly and bumped Sandy almost off the bed with the careless motion. Trowa snatched the bear up before he could tumble and gathered both Sandy and Quatre into a squeeze.

"Hi," said Trowa softly.

Quatre's heart skipped pleasantly at the sound of Trowa's voice. Sandy's paw brushed at his face, like the softest punch ever, as Trowa shifted around to drape Quatre across his chest. Quatre propped himself up on an elbow and tried not to be obvious as he searched Trowa's face. "Morning," he said.

Trowa tickled a light touch over the curve of Quatre's ear to tuck aside stray wisps of hair. The unspoken tenderness of the gesture caught roughness into Quatre's throat, especially given the sad, distant look in Trowa's brilliant emerald eyes. Something of his reaction must have shown on his own face – Quatre lacked the same self-control as Trowa, who often kept his expressions so neutral and empty as to seem coolly indifferent. Likely some pink dusting across his cheeks or a waving hesitation in his eyes as he watched Trowa, but whatever the cause the effect was that Trowa turned away from him.

Trowa rolled on his side and then upright, the physical rejection mirroring the sudden aloof aura that sprung up around him. "What did you tell Catherine?" he asked, in none too nice of a tone.

Quatre followed him up to the edge of the bed and dragged Sandy along for comfort, since he could no longer cling to Trowa. He bit his lip against the hurt of Trowa's unspoken accusation. When he failed to respond, Trowa glanced over at him with a sharpness that unsettled Quatre. "Did you tell her about us? How I've been talking to you the whole time?"

"No," said Quatre swiftly. "No, of course not. I wouldn't—" The denial snapped into silence as Quatre recalled his grievous error with Duo.

Trowa shook his head. "That's not fair of me. Of course you wouldn't."

Worry fluttered up out of his middle at the sullen, despondent quality of Trowa's voice, but Quatre smothered it back down with a tight constriction of Sandy's face into his hands. "It's okay, Trowa." He succeeded to smoothing the panic out from his voice, rendering it into a sweet, soothing hush. "I'm not mad or anything, and neither is Catherine. She's hoping you'll talk to her again, but you don't have to. Everyone knows how hard this is for you."

Trowa turned a miserable curve of face away from Quatre's persistent attempts at sneaking up into a hug. His shoulders hunched with the unmistakable wincing gesture of someone expecting a blow, and Quatre cautiously eased some distance between them. He swallowed a bundle of nerves. "But if you do want to talk about anything, I'm here. Like... what you were saying last night. About your mother. I can—"

Trowa bolted to his feet, sudden enough that Quatre flinched back without meaning to. His heart slammed against his rib cage in a surge of wild terror that he'd said all the wrong things and blundered right into trouble, but just as quick on the heels of that fear was the resolute absolution that maybe he had to push Trowa a bit too far, if he wanted to help. He started to reach for Trowa's hand, concerned that he meant to leave. Trowa snatched his arm up and away from Quatre's hesitation. The gesture startled him enough that Quatre jerked Sandy in front of his face like a shield. His first instincts were far more powerful than his new-found sense of purpose.

Unfortunately his error meant Trowa could get across the room, and he was at the bedroom door before Quatre recovered. Quatre hastened off the bed and stumbled over his own feet on the way to catch Trowa. Where he thought they'd both go in only their nightclothes, well, Quatre hadn't really thought it that far through and apparently neither had Trowa. Rather than try to leave, Trowa stopped at the door and turned.

The wary sight of Trowa braced against the door like a caged animal gave Quatre pause. He froze, midway across the room, not wanting to spook Trowa further. "It's okay," he said slowly. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine."

Trowa shook his head, sending his bangs into a low, mournful sway. He looked at Quatre, as if to speak, and then shook his head again. Cautiously in very small, slow steps, Quatre closed the remaining distance between them. He took Trowa by the hand and pulled him, unresisting, from the door. Quatre sat on the bed again and brought Trowa with him. He kept hold of the boy's hand, both giving and receiving from the touch.

"It's all right, Trowa. I understand," said Quatre softly. "I... I'll tell you about my mother instead. Or, I don't know – when I was young I used to think, there was this woman, she raised me – I thought she… Well. My actual mother, I mean, she died when I was born. That's what I've been told. The woman who raised me, she always – she told me, but—oh, I've made a mess of this already. Let me start over."

"You don't have to," said Trowa. He lifted a puzzled look from the carpet.

"I know," said Quatre. He was surely going to ripped Sandy's eye free of its stitching unless he relaxed his hands. It was painful, the way his heart beat. "I don't want to, either. But if I'm going to tell anyone, I'd rather it be you."

He'd gone too far again. Trowa scowled, a rare flash of frustration stamping anger over his face. "Stop it, Quatre. Just, stop it."

Quatre bit his lip against the sharp sting of rejection. Childish hurt welled up against the force of his determination. Maybe trying to bare his soul to Trowa was the wrong thing to be doing, and Quatre floundered helplessly to keep from letting the depth of his misery show. The last thing he needed to do was overreact; Trowa wasn't trying to be mean, and Quatre knew that.

Knowing and understanding were two separate things, though, and it was a fragile moment before Quatre could speak again without risking tears. "I'm just trying to help, Trowa."

"Leave it alone, if you want to help. I shouldn't have said anything last night."

_I shouldn't have said anything, ever_ – Trowa didn't say it, but Quatre would have gambled Sandy on that being the thought which twisted at Trowa's brow and set such a look of pain into his eyes. "Please, Trowa. I'm worried about you. Please don't shut me out. I really do just want to help. And maybe you'll feel better if—"

"Don't!" Trowa's voice lifted into an undeniable shout. He snapped his hand out of Quatre's grip. "Don't say _if I talk about it_!"

Astonishment filled the first beat of silence, and then a shivering reaction rippled over Quatre's nerves and rendered him into wide-eyed fear. His breath caught and locked around a lump of senseless, stupid tears, but he refused to let them gather or fall. He kept them close, wrapped tight to all the jagged wounds across his heart. Crying wasn't going to do anything other than make him feel worse.

Quatre shook free of his shock and squared his shoulders against Trowa's outburst. "Fine. I won't. I won't say it, but the offer stands."

The quiet reproach in his trembling tone knocked the heat from Trowa's face. Tension dropped from his shoulders and set them into a dejected slouch. Trowa rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I shouldn't have—" His breath hitched unsteadily. "I'm sorry, Quatre."

"Oh," he managed. Not crying was suddenly a lot harder. "It's… it's all right."

"No, it's not." Trowa hesitated and then reached, taking Quatre into a slow, gentle hug. "Yelling at you like that… I don't know what's wrong with me."

_I do_, thought Quatre. He curled his hands over Trowa's shoulders and sunk gratefully into the embrace. Sandy, clutched equally dear, poked up from behind Trowa's neck.

Trowa's hand smoothed reassurance and silent apology over Quatre's back. He pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and withdrew some, just enough to catch Quatre in a despairing glance. "Will you forgive me?"

_For what? _Quatre nearly blurted. He tightened his hold over Trowa instead of answering. Fortunately Trowa let it go at that; they'd never needed a lot of words to understand each other. Maybe, Quatre realized, that needed to change.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you as always for reading and all your wonderful responses. I lucked into a Blackberry phone, which is a vast upgrade over the old beat up flip phone I'd been using for the past four years. I sprung for the cheapest data plan just so I could check my email from my phone; it makes writing a lot easier, since I email myself the work-in-progress file for whenever I'm away from my laptop. It also means I can read your reviews whenever I'm needing a boost, which is amazing.

I'm hoping to have the next chapter done soon, but then again I always say that. I'm very happy that you've found the rate of updates acceptable. I'm always impatient with myself for being slow. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	97. Overdose

LSC / 10-18-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Seven: Overdose)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 97

**Overdose**

* * *

The ceiling of the hospital bored him, and his bed didn't quite elevate enough to see more out from the window than a blue stretch of blank sky. There was a television fixed to the corner of his room. A simple arrangement of buttons on his bedside controls turned the set on and off, but Trowa had let the device fall between the bed rails some time ago and hadn't bothered to fetch it back. It didn't matter, really.

His leg was starting to hurt again, but the nurse had come and gone not so long ago. The clock's little hand needed to move from the three to the nine before anyone would come back around and check on him. If Trowa asked they would likely increase the pain medication dripping into the I.V. in his arm, but of course he wasn't going to _ask_.

He could try sleeping, but the with the deep ache in his leg that proved difficult. The bed was impossibly uncomfortable. And the smell. He hated the smell of hospitals. It filtered through his nostrils as pure misery and desperation. Trowa hated the nurses, too; the sound of their sensible shoes, the bright teddy bear and lollipop patterns on their scrubs, the silly way they spoke to him. If he could move, Trowa would find his medical chart on the door and find the part where it said _speak to him like he's four years old_ and scratch it out and – but, it didn't matter. They could talk to him how they liked.

Even though the little hand on the clock sat midway between the five and the six, the door to his room opened. He heard the little roll of the knob and the whisper-soft push of the hinge and then – ice filled his lungs and heart and rendered him a statue in the bed. Eyes fixed at the ceiling still, Trowa didn't need to look to know what was happening. He heard the sharp click of her heels against the cold linoleum and the swish of her skirt across nylon hose as she came closer.

"Well, isn't this a lovely room," said his mother. She set a bursting bouquet of blood red roses on the little table next to the window. The large, round cellophane balloon rising up from the flowers served to partially block the view. The auburn upsweep of her hair caught the harsh fluorescent lights in a way that seemed bafflingly elegant. Her pretty oval face turned toward him. "It should be a nice room, for the price."

She ghosted a hand over the elevated, bundled line of his leg without actually touching it. He tensed anyway, which hurt all the more and sent roiling nausea up through the agony. At the nine someone would come check on him, and maybe he could figure out a way to ask for more painkiller without actually asking. "They tell me you're very lucky to only have broken your leg," she said. "Falling from the roof like that. Whatever could you have been doing up there?"

The way she said it told Trowa everything. He looked from the blank ceiling tiles to her smiling face. "Well. Let it not be said I don't appreciate your efforts. When the school called I thought for a moment I'd gotten lucky. Turns out you're the lucky one. You best choose a taller building time." She laughed. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Maybe if Trowa ignored the saccharine poison of the words, sent down to him with tenderness by her cold, mean little voice, he could memorize the sweet adoration of her smile instead. He finally did something to make her happy, or at least put forth an attempt, but it didn't matter since the bushes broke his fall. He hadn't anticipated that. It wasn't like he'd really thought it through anyway. Not that it mattered; not that anything mattered.

His mother came closer, right up next to the bed. She leaned over and brushed aside the sweep of his bangs. Their eyes met, and like a deer caught in headlights, or a mouse hypnotized by a snake, Trowa felt the old, foolish inclination to please her that made him sit in dark hall closets and jump from school roofs – but not the one thing she asked of him, the one lie that stayed lodged in his throat and triggered the five year stretch of silence. Maybe that pleased her all the same, that he'd taken Sit Quietly so seriously to heart, but still she said her cruelties and admonished him not to spill her secrets all the same.

Still her fingers fell against his hair, in some kind of mockery of motherly affection. That was how the next visitor to his drab little hospital room found them. He'd had no visitors at all until now. Not before his surgery when his mind reeled against the shock and pain of ugly consequences to a bleak, rash decision, and he would have welcomed kind words and maybe reassurances. Childish fear overtook him as the gurney rolled down the long operation corridor, and Trowa woke alone with the same lingering longing to hear a familiar voice, even if it was his mother's. He'd spent the first night after the surgery unable to sleep, trapped between nightmarish despair and the torturous ache of his leg.

Now he had another visitor, who burst in with the squelching beat of sneakers against tile and a massive rattling bangle of bracelets. "Trowa! Tro—Oh," said Catherine. She drew up short at the sight of his mother beside the bed.

"Hello, Catherine," said his mother. She pulled her hand from Trowa's hair. "What are you doing here? You didn't skip out on school, did you?"

"No, ma'am," she said. "Or I would have been here sooner. Drove through Friday night and some this morning. I'll be sure to be back before Monday, though."

"I see." His mother ran the elegant, manicured line of her nails across the fine-grained leather of her clutch purse. "I was just on my way out anyway. Good to see you, dear."

She spoke to Catherine, not him, of course. The curve of her smile was pretty but fake and empty, but Catherine grinned like it was real. Trowa lifted his head from the pillow some, just enough to see his mother leave, but then Catherine swooped down to smother a hug over him, blocking his line of sight.

"Oh!" She jumped back from the bed as if he'd bitten her, although Trowa hadn't moved at all. "Did that hurt? Does it hurt? Look at your leg, gosh! Oh, hey—" She swung the low, denim bulge of her shoulder tote around and mangled a hand through it. The dizzying assortment of wood, metal, and beaded bracelets stacked over her arm jingled pleasantly with the motion. "Look, I got you something."

The I.V. set into his elbow made moving his right arm hard, and Trowa didn't feel like moving his left because he kept hoping the bedside controller might brush up against his periodically roving fingers. Undeterred by Trowa's lack of response, Catherine whipped free and presented to him a dangling keychain with a day-glo furry lump at one end. After a moment Trowa realized it was a rabbit's foot, dyed lurid aquamarine.

"For luck!" she said. "A foot for a leg, right? I stopped at this hilarious kitsch gas station on the way here, and they were selling them in a big tub. Poor little guys, to lose their feet, but, I don't know, I thought you might like it. Where to put it, though? Here, I'll just set it by these flowers. Did your mom bring them? They're so pretty. Really brightens up the room, don't you think?"

Catherine drifted over to the window and then back again. She'd shed the neat and prim uniform of her boarding school somewhere along the ten hour drive up and out from the idyllic country grounds. Long gone were the cap-sleeved party dresses that her father favored her to wear; with little input from her stepmother, who merely wrote the checks to cover a generous monthly allowance, Catherine accumulated a closet full of ritzy designer knock-offs. The last time Trowa had seen her, over Christmas when she'd come to visit at the big house where he lived with his mother, she'd been in a dazzling plush sweater and skinny jeans. Now she wore ripped-up cut-off shorts despite the cool bite to the early spring weather and a similar bulky sweater, pushed up to the elbows to show off the array of bracelets.

She walked around the side of the bed with a slight bounce in her step. "I can't wait to graduate. Just two more months, can you believe it? This summer is going to rock. I can't decide if I'm going to road trip with Amanda and Chrissy or do the European backpack thing with Bryce. Did I tell you about Bryce? He works at the bookstore in town. I'm pretty sure he flirts with all the girls, so it's super sketch he wants me to march around Germay or Croatia wherever all summer with him. What do you think, little bro? Are all guys scumbags or just this one?"

Trowa's eyes tracked Catherine's movement, because she'd been nice enough to drive all this way just to see him, and he liked the warmth of her smile against the clinging frost from his mother's venomous touch. Catherine always kept up such a smooth one-sided stream of conversation, but that wasn't much different now than when they'd both been kids. The major difference now was that she'd given up bullying answers out of him when the silence stretched too long, and he'd given up nods and shrugs and the rest. He was done with that. He'd tried to be done with everything, but now he just had a broken leg and a great deal of heartache for his trouble.

Catherine took his attention as interest and continued. "I'm not saying I want to date Bryce, even if he is good looking. It's the all-girls school phenomena of any available guy seeming like a good idea, you know? Well, of course you don't. You probably don't even like girls yet. Do they still have cooties at your age? Maybe not. Maybe you're mister tall, dark, and handsome to all the ladies. The strong, silent type – right?" She grinned.

Trowa felt the hard plastic edge of the controller. He fumbled his fingers at it in vain. "I'll get that," said Catherine. She tipped forward and plucked the bedside control up from where it tangled below the bed rail. She set it into Trowa's hand and paced the length of the bed again.

"Gosh," said Catherine. She stood at the end of the bed and stared at the mangled bundle of his leg under the wraps and splits and swollen surgical scars. "I'm so glad you're all right. I couldn't believe it when I heard – but I guess a broken leg's not the worst that could happen from a three-story tumble like that. You really are lucky."

Trowa found it impossible to agree with her. The little hand on the clock complete its journey over to the nine, and the nurse came in to check on him. He managed some gesture at his leg, but that only made the nurse smile and nod and say, "Yes, honey. Your leg's broken. You can't move it yet because it needs time to heal."

_No, it hurts_. Trowa let the weak, flimsy motion of his hand fall against the starch-white sheets. It didn't matter anyway.

Catherine caught the nurse from leaving. "Wait. I think my brother needed something."

"He's fine, dear. The surgery went well. Soon as he's good enough to use crutches we'll be able to send him home. Shouldn't be more than another night or two."

"No, that's not it." Catherine looked him over carefully. "Trowa?" she asked. "What'd you need, little bro?"

_A taller building. _Trowa thumbed on the television and spun through the channels until he found a game show. He liked those well enough.

"Never mind," she told the nurse quietly. "I guess he's fine."

* * *

Only when he felt absolutely certain that Trowa wouldn't be able to overhear did Quatre call Rashid. The rush of the shower drifted through the closed bathroom door. Unlocked, of course; the only door in the entire apartment that locked was the front. Quatre couldn't decide if that was Catherine's doing or a happy coincidence, but it caused him some measure of peace either way. He'd already scanned the bathroom cabinets for anything more harmful than Tums and cotton balls and Catherine's pink safety razor, wire-wrapped and docile.

After the fuss first thing that morning, they'd eaten cold cereal for breakfast in relative silence, somewhat strained but lightened by the dull background of the television. Trowa remained on edge, most of his responses either nonverbal or flat, empty of his usual warmth. Which only made Quatre feel all the more convinced than ever that Trowa needed him close, hence the call to Rashid.

The line rang twice before the secretary answered, her voice light and professional. "Hello," said Quatre. He stepped toward the kitchen for a better view down the hall. "I'd like to speak to Rashid, please. Tell him Mr. Raberba is calling."

"I'll see if he's available."

Of course Rashid would be available, if he was the one calling. Quatre could have given his full name and gotten immediately sent to whichever direct line he pleased by the power of the Winner label, but that would be the equivalent of walking into the office tower downtown with a huge sign that read _please tell Father I'm here_. Hopefully the secretary wouldn't make a connection between Mr. Raberba and the company president's son.

"Hello?"came Rashid's deep, familiar voice. "Quatre, is that you?"

"Um, hi," he said. "Yes, Rashid."

"I'm so glad you called. I spoke with your father about you—"

"Oh, Rashid! No, you promised!" Quatre clutched at the phone until the plastic casing popped. "You promised not to tell, _baba_."

Rashid made a soft, tsking sound over the line at the childish endearment and the way Quatre spun it out, half fearful and half whining. It might be unfair of him to twist the man's heart this way, but thoughts of Trowa set a mercenary's will into him.

"Not that you called me, _qitta_. I did promise you that. I only brought up what we'd discussed, you and I. As a hypothetical, that's all."

"Oh," said Quatre. He bit his lip and once again checked the hallway. "What'd he say?"

The hesitation told him everything necessary. At Quatre's outrush of breath, Rashid clucked soothingly at him again. "Ah, _qitta_. Don't fret. Are you well? Do you need anything?" His voice softened and sent a painful stab of homesickness through Quatre in response. "Tell me where you are, Quatre. I'll send a car, or buy you a plane ticket. Whatever needs to happen."

"No, Rashid… I told you. I don't need anything."

"Where are you, _qitta_? I can wire funds your way, at least. Arrange a hotel for you, until things get worked out and you can come home."

"About that," said Quatre slowly. He took several quick, short breaths in panicked succession before finding a smooth equilibrium. "I have to… I can't, um. I'm not going to do that anymore. At least, not right now. So, I don't need you to talk to Father for me. I'm going to stay here for a while longer."

"_Qitta_…" Rashid poured the pet name out with a great deal of kindness. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No. Well, no. I'm not. I just – I'm fine. You don't need to worry."

"You do sound well," Rashid allowed. "Will you at least tell me where you are? I worry, _qitta_. Your doctors have said—"

"No, _baba_. Please." Quatre twisted his voice into a tearful plea that was only half feigned. "Please, just a little longer. Please, Rashid. Please don't tell Father, or my sisters, or the police, or, or…"

"All right, _qitta_. It's okay. Calm yourself. I will do as you ask."

Where was Sandy? Quatre snatched the bear up from the coffee table and held him close, right up under his chin. "Rashid, I – I have to go. I'll call again when I can."

"See that you do," said Rashid. "Take care of yourself, _qitta_."

Quatre hung up feeling a thousand times more miserable than at the outset of the whole entire depressing morning. He set the phone down on the table and wrapped himself tight around Sandy. If only circumstances were different, so that he could pour all his grief into tears and have Trowa hold him.

From the hall still came the sound of the shower, so Quatre went to get a can of soda from the fridge. He was walking back through the living room, intent on peeking in on Trowa, when the phone rang. For a heart-stopping second he feared it was Rashid, who'd somehow tracked the number or reversed the call or gone against his promise to help Quatre. He stared at the phone a moment longer before slowly setting the unopened can down on the table. Tensed around the urge to flee, Quatre forced his hand to pick up the receiver.

"H-hello?" he said.

"Quatre! Quatre? Cutie-Q, that you?"

Weak-kneed relief sunk him into the carpet. "Yeah. Hi, Duo. Is everything okay?"

"I was going to ask you that!" burst Duo, with typical hyped-up exuberance. Something stronger than his usual high-energy chatter sprouted an answering tendril of worry in Quatre. "Where's Trowa? Is he with you? Where are you – I mean, you're at Catherine's, duh, never mind, stupid question. Why else would you answer the phone? I thought maybe you'd go to fake school this morning, so I went there to wait to walk you home or whatever and now I'm just back at Heero's apartment. Also duh, since I'm calling, although I should have just popped change into the nearest payphone and rung you up right away."

No, something much stronger than Duo's normal liveliness. Quatre could barely follow the rapid-fire rambling. "Um, I'm sorry? I'm here at Catherine's with Trowa."

"Right you are, thank flying fuck – where is Trowa? Is he eavesdropping? Listen, Quatre, I don't want to alarm you – That is like the last fucking thing I want, because we all could be jumping at shadows and shit and, whatever, Trowa's like, Oh I just needed my precious fucking isolation solitude alone time slap-happy worry hour, whatever, but here's this thing – I was taking to Heero this morning and, hey, Quatre? Hang on, shit, I need to sit down or something. I'm not feeling so hot over here or, maybe the opposite, feeing so cold? Is that a thing? I shouldn't have walked so much as I did this morning. And by walked I mean ran, because once I hit that final bus stop I just got subsumed by this end-of-the-world doomsday train of horror thoughts. Ah, hell. I feel like shit. I've got Heero on high alert, too, now you and him can get together and swap notes on the optimum way to care for your crazy. Not! That! Trowa is, you know, c-word. Ah, hell, don't that that personally, Quatre."

"Duo? I can't really… What's wrong?"

"Me? Nothing. Just the spinny world-go-round too much thinking for one little brain type manic overload. I think here in a bit I might do jumping jacks until I pass out from the, oh, haha, your boyfriend's got cock like a two by four and you've gone too far on your pogo stick impression suicide fuck. Not! That! Ah, hell, forgot I said the s-word and the c-word and, really, pretty much everything else I've said since, like, July. Fuck. Fuck, what the hell was I even saying? Jesus, this is a bad one, so when you did get those downers from Trowa be sure to save me a couple so I can soothe Heero out whatever mood he's worked himself into – like a weird fun house mirror flip of my excellent mood merry go-round splatter works. Oh, the sedatives for myself, not Heero. I'm not quite ready to roofie the poor bastard or anything."

Quatre stared at the phone for several seconds before responding into the vacant space Duo had left for him in the entirely one-sided conversation. "Duo, I'm sorry. I don't understand what you want."

"Nothing, really, just a heads up. Right, my story – Heero and I were talking this morning, like you do, or rather, like I do, which is to say a lovely stream of Oh, my God, why can't you just shut up nonsense. Although, in my defense, I was at least trying to keep it somewhat under control because he just gets this brown out burnt light bulb look when I go a mile a minute, like he's actually trying to parse out every little stupid word. Jesus fucking Christ, Duo, stay on target! Okay, okay, so I'm flipping my shit over here and Heero's like, Oh, why don't you just take one of your pills. And I'm like, what the fuck, bitch we talked about this, I'm not on my meds – hence the freak out. And Heero, he just insists, he's like No way I totally know you have those pills of Zechs's but I'm not mad (which was kind of sweet of him in a really fucked up what is wrong with you kind of way). And I'm like, wait, what the fuck dude. I should mention at this point that obviously this isn't a verbatim transcript of the exchange in question. Where was I? Okay, so, right. Apparently what happened was Zechs came over last night while we were off looking for Trowa and picked up all his stuff – he's moved out, I guess, or, whatever, I don't know, Heero wasn't quite clear on the matter but I can tell you about that later – Oh! My story, right. Sorry, geez, I'm really sorry, Quatre. So, Zechs, he's on his way out the door and accuses me of stealing some prescription anti-depressants or anti-psychotics or sleeping pills or, whatever, I don't know the flavor of candy just that_ I_ didn't take it. So unless you're setting up a pharmacy I don't know about…"

It took forever for Quatre to make sense of Duo's explanation. "What?" he asked, in a breathless whisper.

"Yeah," said Duo. "An unknown quantity of high-powered brain-soothing recreationals has gone totally missing-in-action and, like I said, I definitely didn't take them, Zechs certainly wouldn't make up that weird of a story to hide his tracks – and, trust me, Heero ain't got them because the dude just can't lie – and I'm betting you're not the culprit either. That only leaves you-know-who as the person with both means and motive to swipe them. Quatre, _where is Trowa_? He's there with you, right? Did I already ask if he was eavesdropping? Does he look guilty as fucking sin? Hey, when's Catherine getting back from work? You know what, fuck it, I'm on my way over."

"No," said Quatre. Somehow he managed that much noise without shrieking with the sudden force of his panic. "No, don't. I'll call if—"

_If!_

If, what? Quatre's eyes snapped to the hallway. He could still hear the shower. How long did Trowa normally take in the shower, and how long had he been in here already? The phone bounced against the edge of the table and tumbled, forgotten, to the carpet.

* * *

Trowa ran the washcloth over his leg and left behind a trailing line of white-foam suds over the much faded and barely visible surgical scar. Maybe the other scars, the vile ones he hated so intensely on his arms, would fade to silvery rope and then disappear entirely, given enough time. He wasn't sure if he wanted that. Time, that is. He did want the scars to go away. They only served to remind him of something shameful and miserable. He saw the way Quatre's eyes flick to them and away whenever he thought Trowa wouldn't notice, the boy drawn and repulsed by the red lines of failure.

At least no one had ever known the truth about that first terrible, foolish attempt of his. No one but his mother, but they'd always kept each other's secrets. Well, until now. Until last night, when Trowa stupidly ran his mouth in atypical excess and regurgitated one of the vilest memories he possessed for no other reason than… Than his thoughts were in a tempest, stirred up into a frenzy of gloom and desolation, and Trowa hated the way all his secrets clawed and scratched gouges into his silence. A silence that had once been as easy as breathing, and now lay shattered in pieces all around him.

"Trowa? Trowa!"

The sudden banging on the door startled Trowa only a bit less than the jagged, panicked way that Quatre shouted his name. He reached to turn the water off at the same time the bathroom door popped open. Cool air fanned away the steamy heat from the shower, and Trowa pushed the curtain aside. "Quatre? What's wrong?"

Confusion ranked top among Trowa's reactions to the open door and decided lack of Quatre otherwise. He snagged a towel off the rack and slung it around his waist. "Quatre?" he called again. Trowa stepped out into the hall.

Quatre appeared in the doorway of Trowa's bedroom, red-faced and shoulders shaking in a way that instantly snapped Trowa's attention. He started forward and then froze, held in place as soon as his eyes fell on what Quatre clutched in one hand.

"Oh," said Trowa. No sound had ever held such absolute defeat as that one small utterance.

"These were in your jeans," said Quatre. "The ones you were wearing yesterday."

Of course it was. Of course Trowa hadn't thought to hide his treasure somewhere, like between his mattress or tucked up next to the photo album in his nightstand drawer or buried beneath his socks in the dresser or any other fucking place in his entire room except the first place Quatre would think to look if he suspected. How exactly Quatre thought to go looking for the pill bottle, Trowa wasn't sure, or maybe the younger boy had just been patting his things down like the way Catherine toted around his antidepressants in her purse – and the aspirin, and the cough syrup, and the kitchen shears, and everything else remotely harmful. She was entirely too careful, hence Trowa's stunned good fortune when he'd been tucking the bedding into place around Quatre yesterday at Heero's apartment and struck upon a tumbling, rattling, orange bottle with unmistakable swallowable escape.

Quatre tucked Sandy under one arm and wrenched the cap from the bottle. "Why do you have these?" he demanded. A waterfall of tablets and round pills poured into his palm, just enough for Quatre to see the damning, excessive quantity, before he slid them all back into place. They barely fit; originally it'd been three little containers, but Trowa figured mixing the types wouldn't hurt. Literally and figuratively.

"Ah," Trowa said. Hopeless turmoil crashed down around him with a deafening rush of his own racing pulse. This couldn't be happening. He'd never get another means this easy, this painless. He'd tried it once, with a half-empty prescription, and it'd been all right – until he woke up in the hospital, his throat battered and bruised, and Catherine sobbing apologies like it'd been her fault. But so many, the entire bottle, it had to be enough, and if only Trowa hadn't blown his perfect opportunity yesterday.

"Trowa." The strangeness of Quatre's tightly-wound voice confused him, until Trowa realized it was rare anger coloring the way the boy said his name. "Trowa, why do you have these?"

Didn't Quatre know? Why would he be asking such a senseless question, when everyone could see the scars on his arm and whisper gossip behind his back. Sometimes people thought just because he never said anything, it meant he couldn't hear when they talked about him. Trowa shook his head in violent denial; he wouldn't be able to lie again, not with any convincing effort, and the truth was too horrible for him to say aloud.

"Trowa!" Quatre shook the bottle at him. The pills inside jostled faintly within the cramped conditions. "I know you took these from Zechs! Is that what – Is that where… Yesterday, when you went to 'be alone,' what were you really doing?"

Trowa shook his head again, for a lack of better response, and Quatre barreled on right over the silence.

"Don't lie to me again, Trowa! I want you to admit it. You were—" His voice caught and tangled, and for a moment Trowa thought that was going to be the end of the outburst. Quatre rallied admirably, eyes glinting with an unfathomable ferocity that sunk into Trowa like a dagger. "You were going to k-kill yourself."

"No," said Trowa. Or, maybe, as the word seemed to come from very far away. "No. No, I—" He could barely draw breath around the vast, hollow void his chest. He would give nearly anything to not be part of this ugliness.

"You were! You – you took these, and, you lied to me about picking up Catherine, and you lied to her about being with me, and you lied to me again about how you wouldn't. But, you are. You are thinking about it. You want to. You want to... to..." Quatre's control lost out against a trembling, wretched sob that tore Trowa's heart to shreds.

"No, Quatre, I—" Trowa stepped forward, wanting to hold and comfort Quatre, but the boy flinched back with the pill bottle and teddy bear both pressed against his chest.

"Don't!" he cried. "I won't let you. I don't care if you hate me for it; I won't let you kill yourself, Trowa!"

"Quatre, no, I—" Trowa needed them, he needed something, and Catherine kept everything out of reach and him always in her sight, and maybe Trowa wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but he liked having _something_.

Desperation took hold of Trowa. He should have hidden them better, he should never have stuck around as long as he did, but when that failed he should have been more careful. He'd never get another chance like this, not if Quatre – Oh, God, _Quatre_, who threatened to break him with tenderness and shook him so fiercely that Trowa wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. It'd been so much simpler before, and he caused Quatre such misery, so surely it'd be better if he just—

Quatre popped the plastic cap free. "I won't let you," he said again, so firm and resolute. In unison, Trowa and Quatre both flicked a quick glance at the bathroom door. Trowa shifted, subtly blocking the smaller boy. Quatre glanced again, toward the living room this time, and Trowa prowled forward into the space between them.

Quatre abruptly whirled away, racing into retreat, and Trowa followed a split-second later. Quatre wove around the coffee table and tripped over something, the cordless handset, judging by the way it shot out across the carpet as he stumbled. A few precious tablets fell into the sofa cushions before Quatre recovered. Trowa closed a hand over the boy's wrist, but Quatre pulled out from his grasp with a ruthless determination. Sandy dropped to the floor in the brief fight, and Quatre didn't even glance at his bear. Dimly, Trowa registered the grating feel of delicate bones and flesh, and surely he must have hurt Quatre without even really meaning to.

Rather than go into the kitchen, which was a dead end, Quatre used the momentum of his struggle to reverse direction. He snagged something up from the coffee table as he passed, although what Trowa did not see. Trowa thought only to block him again from the bathroom, so Quatre couldn't flush all the pills into oblivion. Quatre seized on the opportunity of his distraction. He ducked into Trowa's bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

A heartbeat later Trowa hit up against the wood. "Quatre!" He tried the knob, which turned freely, but his rattling efforts only produced a strange, bouncing kind of resistance. Quatre had the door blocked; he was using Trowa's own tricks against him. "Quatre! I'm not going to hate you, just – Come out of there!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Trowa put his shoulder into the effort, jolting the door inward before Quatre managed to force it shut again.

"No!"

"Quatre, stop it! Don't do this to me, please."

A muffled shriek came at him through the closed door, punctuated by the small, sharp sound of Quatre's palm hitting the wood. "Trowa! How could you – Did you ever think how Catherine would feel if you – How_ I'd _feel if you killed yourself? Well? _Did you?_"

"Quatre, no, please…"

"No! No, of course you didn't! Because I can't understand why you would say that you love me if you were planning on leaving me forever! That's what dying is, Trowa – it's _forever_! I'd never see you again. You'd be _dead_. Well, you're not – I won't let you! I'm going to get rid of these _stupid_ pills!"

"Quatre… Quatre…." Trowa pressed his forehead to the door. His hand fell from the knob, rendered numb by the cold wash of Quatre's accusation. A tiny, metallic crush slipped into the broken silence. Trowa's ears pricked at the sound, but he couldn't place it. "Quatre, please open the door."

It wasn't like with Catherine, who said things like_ I'm glad you're still here _in that quiet, bruised voice of hers at his hospital bedside with his stomach pumped or wrists wrapped. And always, always the same faithful, loving patience and fierce defense of him to his teachers and the doctors and strangers and anyone else who misunderstood his silence. Catherine, made suddenly a responsible adult in the crest of her youth, who dropped out of school to take care of him and rearranged her whole schedule to keep an eye on him, but never once yelled at him the way Quatre did, in a tumultuous fury born out of deepest affection. Probably because Trowa never once talked back to her, or yelled in return, or—

"Quatre?" Trowa set a hand against the door. "Quatre, I'm sorry. Let me – Let me explain, okay? Come out here and talk to me."

A soft, sputtering cough answered him.

"Quatre, what are you doing?" Trowa gripped the knob and pushed the door open barely a foot before the slight, determined weight of Quatre on the other side countered him.

"No! You're just going to – I'm not going to let you—" Quatre coughed again, wet and choking.

Slow, tingling dread ran down his spine in an icy shiver. "Hey, open up. Come on." He banged a hand into the door without any response. "Quatre, I'm serious!"

"So am I!"

Trowa crashed hip and shoulder into the door and overpowered Quatre easily. He mostly tumbled into the room, because there hadn't been as much resistance as he anticipated. Quatre staggered back from the door with a short outcry, and from his hand slipped a soda can. It fell to the floor and toppled, sending a gurgling rush of effervescent cola into the carpet. Maybe Trowa would care about the mess or the possible stain under any other circumstances, but not now, not with the way Quatre backed away from him in wide-eyed, skittish alarm. The fist pressed against his mouth held the orange prescription bottle. The pale column of his throat worked a long, lumpy swallow as Trowa watched.

Trowa lunged forward at the same time Quatre jerked back, but his height gave superior reach and he easily caught the smaller boy. Screeching, wordless protest raised the hair along his neck as Trowa dug what had to be a painful grip into Quatre's arms. The little blonde twisted in an impossible angle to break free of Trowa.

"_What did you do?_" Trowa's voice shot out tight with fear. He tried to seize Quatre again, but the boy moved out of range with an effortless shrug.

"What I had to!" Quatre's huge blue-green eyes showed white all around. His shoulders hitched around something wild and reckless and stupidly brave, and he bolted from the room like a spooked rabbit.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

A loose translation of Rashid's nickname for Quatre would be "kitten" by the way. I thought it suiting. Duo's going to be pissed he didn't think of it first.

Thank you for reading, thank you very, very much for all your kind encouragement, and I will naturally endeavor to work hard as always. Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	98. Trauma

LSC / 10-21-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Eight: Trauma)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 98

**Trauma**

* * *

Trowa stood frozen in place for two agonizing heartbeats. Each slammed into his ribcage with enough force that he could count them. _One, oh hell. Two, oh hell_. At his feet the can of soda continued to chug volumes of brown fizz into the carpet. "Quatre!" he shouted, unrooting at last. "Quatre!"

He burst into the hallway and caught sight of the younger boy disappearing into the kitchen. The door swung after him with a chilling kind of finality, like some frame out of a horror movie, and that's exactly how unreal it felt as Trowa charged after him. The transition from carpet to tile and the door itself all conspired to send Trowa tumbling in his panic, but he caught an awkward balance into the cabinets. Quatre startled at the sound and clutched the prescription bottle to his chest. With his fist closed over it, with the angle – Trowa couldn't see what of the pills were gone, or what were left, and he'd never in his entire life felt everything as intensely as he did in that moment. The beat of his pulse, the rush of air into and out of his lungs, the slightly bitter smell of cleaning solution from the counter top, the pale gold shine of Quatre's hair and the vivid aquamarine of his eyes – all of it sunk under his skin and fell deep into some locked away part of himself. It was like coming up for air out of a vast, drowning sea.

Quatre stared at back at him with the same round, blown-open skittishness of before, as if amazed and petrified in equal turns of his own daring. Trowa stepped forward, and they danced around each other in the close confines of the kitchen. Catching hold of Quatre was like grabbing fistfuls of water, and each wasted second brought Trowa closer to an unseen precipice of terror. He could barely think around the careening nightmare scenarios bouncing around in his head.

Quatre ducked under his arm, bounced off the refrigerator, and shot out from the kitchen. Trowa didn't bother to hold back this time; he needed to pin Quatre down and wrestle away that damn bottle of pills, that stupid, idiotic thing he'd stolen; he wasn't even sure why anymore, because all that had vanished in that crystalline moment in the kitchen, and now only one thing mattered. It mattered more than his mother's cold little voice and all the buried secrets and his shameful, painful silence.

And maybe if Trowa had been thinking clearly he would have remembered to check his strength, or at least use his newly found voice to give warning, or do anything other than tackle Quatre full-out as the boy darted through the living room. Trowa did try to keep them both upright in the last moment, and he stumbled through a delicate balancing act that got ruined entirely by a knobby lump of plastic. The cordless phone, knocked around by their earlier pass through, tripped up under his feet and sent them both crashing.

Quatre cried out, a sharp sound of pain that cut at Trowa worse than anything. Even his own elbow smacking into the edge of the coffee table seemed a minor inconvenience in comparison to the horrible thud of Quatre striking the table. A flurry of clutter exploded in the commotion; the television remote, his crossword puzzle book, a handful of pens, and, critically, the orange prescription bottle. It flew from Quatre's hand and spilled a burst of pills across the carpet.

Quatre rolled off the table with a low, wounded groan and fell boneless to the floor. He struggled to gasp air with the windless quality of a fish on land. Trowa picked himself up from the mess and swept a hand through the scattered medication. The round tablets and flat pills snapped up from the carpet like jumping fleas with the gesture, and Trowa found it impossible to count them in a glance. He didn't even know how many there'd been to start.

The towel had come undone in the fall, so Trowa looped it secure once more before staggering to his feet. Trowa wrapped his arms over Quatre and hauled the boy's limp weight up from the floor. Quatre wobbled unsteadily, dazed by the fall – hopefully just from the fall, and that seed of doubt bloomed into a knee-shaking panic. He half-dragged, half-carried Quatre toward the hallway. Trowa doubted the stranglehold he exerted around Quatre's waist was helping the boy wheeze together an actual intake of breath, but when he tried to gain a better hold Quatre startled into a weak, flinching struggle.

"Quatre, I'm sorry. It's okay. Just – hang on." Trowa more or less produced an inarticulate babble, rather than anything actually reassuring.

"No!" Quatre shrieked, having found the full strength of his lungs at last. He twisted and caught the doorway of the hall with both hands, but only for a brief second before Trowa ripped him free of it.

"Quatre!" Yelling wasn't going to help, but Trowa couldn't stop himself. "Quatre, stop it! You have to—" Trowa grunted as a sudden, frenetic burst of thrashing from Quatre caught him entirely off guard. He squeezed Quatre closer and barreled a shoulder into the bathroom door. Quatre's feet kicked off the cabinets and counter as he put forth a wrenching effort that nearly succeeded.

"No! No!" The sheer terror in Quatre's lifting scream shook Trowa's nerves. Something didn't seem right, not at all, and then Trowa caught a flashing glance at Quatre in the mirror.

Blood coated half of Quatre's face in a strange, savage mask. The culprit was a bashed open wound above his eyebrow, and terrifying as it was for Trowa to see, he could suddenly understand Quatre's frantic resistance. The desperation went beyond their earlier cat-and-mouse dodging, in which Quatre accounted for his size and relied on nimble avoidance more than strength. Now he fought like a caged animal, heedless of anything other than escape, and Trowa's heart broke at being the cause. The violent collision with the table must have triggered Quatre's worst mode of panic. Either from pain or fear or both, Quatre began to weep, and the hitched sobs reduced his customary screaming to short, whimpering cries.

Trowa stood frozen with indecision. How many pills had there been originally, and how many now lay sprawled across the carpet? Trowa couldn't remember, and it wasn't like he could drop Quatre to the floor and go count them. He couldn't just ask Quatre either, because the senseless, unblinking terror in his blood-streaked face rendered that an impossibility. Trowa considered attending to the panic attack first, pleading calm into Quatre as he had at the flophouse, but if Quatre slid into a faint as before – Trowa shuddered. He was racing against that already, as each precious second ticked by so Quatre's body could process the vile, ingested poison. What on Earth had Quatre been thinking?

He'd been thinking of _Trowa_, and that harsh dose of guilt-ridden shame provided the reluctant solution. Wrestling Quatre to his knees over the toilet was only marginally less impossible than trying to accomplish the messy task of purging his stomach. Quatre twisted out from Trowa's coaxing attempts, and it was all he could do to keep a restraining hold otherwise. Blood from Quatre's face streaked Trowa's hands as he fumbled clumsy, well-intended brutality. He slipped two fingers into the boy's mouth and scraped mercilessly at the back of his throat. Quatre's cries gave way to wretched, choked gagging. The whole of his body tensed against Trowa before breaking into heaving release.

When it was over, Trowa held him and hushed comforting words and tried to clean Quatre's face with the hem of his shirt. Quatre flinched away, still subsumed with panicked confusion, and Trowa nearly began to cry himself with helplessness of it all. Trowa begged desperately to soothe the boy out his fit. "Quatre, please, it's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry – please, Quatre, I'm so sorry."

With a final, miserable whine that jabbed regret all over Trowa's wounded heart, Quatre fell silent. He stopped trying to pull away from Trowa and stared, wide-eyed and unfocused. Trowa rushed encouragement into the opportunity for calm. "You're okay now. Everything's going to be fine. I'm right here."

His eyes rolled back into a faint, same as before, although it lasted only a brief, swooning second. Fortunately, as Trowa couldn't have handled anything longer. As it was already, with Quatre going white-faced and limp, Trowa felt the crushing weight of just how intensely he could be scared. It was again like the moment in the kitchen, when everything sharpened into such brilliance that it hurt.

Quatre's lashes made a soft, fluttering motion as he roused back into consciousness. Not wanting to alarm him further or trigger another attack, Trowa relaxed his grip and edged back just enough to give Quatre some slight space within the cramped confines of the bathroom floor. With the blood still smeared all over his face and streaked through with tears, he looked far too damaged for Trowa to simply let go. Quatre swallowed and grimaced at the understandably unpleasant taste. There was a fragile uncertainty in the way his gaze drifted.

Cautiously Trowa reached to brush aside Quatre's bangs. They were stiff and sticky over the wound, and he wanted to get a better look at the bruised cut. Quatre jerked back with a small, jagged gasp, which froze Trowa in place. "It's okay," he said slowly. "Quatre, it's okay."

Quatre shook his head and winced with the gesture. He shuddered in several too-quick rushes of breath and tried to shrug free of Trowa's concerned hold. "Blood." His voice came out difficult, thick and mashed together. "There's blood."

"You hit your head," said Trowa. Quatre stared at him in confusion, which prompted Trowa to hesitantly say, "On the coffee table, remember?"

"No," said Quatre. "No, there's blood." He recoiled again from Trowa's hands, which were indeed smudged crimson.

Trowa swallowed a rough knot of worry. "That's all right. You're bleeding a bit, that's all, just here – here, I'll – let me get you cleaned up, okay?" He reluctantly let go of Quatre and stood. Trowa kept an eye on him as he quickly washed his hands and then ran a washcloth under the faucet. He knelt again by Quatre and raised the cloth toward his face.

Quatre scooted back into the unyielding wall and fixed Trowa with an unbearable look of fear. Trowa turned his hands over, displaying the freshly scrubbed skin. "See?" he said softly. "No more blood. I just want to clean your face, okay?"

Quatre nodded slightly. He cringed but did not pull away as Trowa wiped the damp cloth across his cheeks and forehead. The red came away in pinkish smears. Trowa was careful to avoid the actual wound, which was beginning to swell and darken as the abused flesh showed its hurt.

Trowa had no way of knowing if Quatre's disoriented response was due to the fall, the panic, or the pills – maybe all three, and Trowa wished desperately for his sister or Duo or anyone else to give advice about what to do. He carefully cupped a hand into Quatre's neck and, when the boy didn't flinch at the touch, pressed tentatively for a pulse. Maybe it was a bit too quick, but at least the beats came strong and steady against the pad of his fingers.

"Quatre." He waited for the sluggish drag of Quatre's eyes to find his face. "Quatre, you're okay now, but, I need to know – What's the last thing you remember? Do you remember hitting your head?"

A wounded, bewildered expression crossed Quatre's face. He shook his head a fractional amount and tensed, braced against an unseen blow – like Trowa was going to get mad if he gave the wrong answer. A slow trickle of blood still oozed from the cut, weeping red into the furrowed line of Quatre's brow.

Trowa gentled his voice even further and set the washcloth to the side. "That's okay. It's all right. Do you remember just before that, when we—" Trowa stopped himself from using the word _fought_. He forced a smile with calm he did not truly feel and was rewarded with some of the tension lowering out of Quatre's shoulders. "Do you remember being in my room? You had the soda, and the pills? Do you remember that?"

Quatre shook his head with the same wariness, and Trowa swiftly gave reassurances until he relaxed again. He refrained from petting a hand through Quatre's hair, as he feared even the most affectionate of motions might set off another round of panic. Instead Trowa kept a loose hold over the boy, hardly even touching the thin shoulders.

"Quatre? Honey – what's the last thing you remember?"

For a moment Trowa thought he wasn't going to get an answer. Quatre gave him a round-eyed look of apprehension and then shifted the slow, unfocused flow of his gaze over the bathroom walls, the mirror, the cabinets, before resettling on Trowa's face. "You," he said.

"Me?"

"You," Quatre agreed. He seemed to struggle for a moment on the verge of saying more but then went quiet, a look of distress coming and going. "Where's Sandy?" He slurred the words together, which Trowa knew wasn't a good sign.

Trowa had no idea where the bear had disappeared to during all their carousing and chasing. "He's in the other room," he assured Quatre. It wasn't technically a lie. Quatre accepted either the fib or the mollifying tone and didn't press the matter further. Trowa nodded at the wound. "I'm going to get a look at this, okay? Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

Quatre submitted meekly when Trowa cautiously tipped his face toward the light. More important to him than examining the bashed-up gash was assessing the way Quatre's pupils contracted. That seemed normal, but Trowa's medical knowledge fell somewhere around non-existent. Quatre was awake, if a bit disoriented, and there'd hardly been any time at all for much of the dosage to metabolize. The one subject Trowa felt he could at least hazard some expertise was in overdosing, or at least attempting to – he'd been scooped up from the floor of his dorm with a half-bottle of antidepressants seeping toxins into his bloodstream, and that hadn't been enough quantity or time to do anything.

Trowa gave the cabinets a brief search and turned up only a little box of band-aids, a bag of cotton balls, and a bottle of antacid tablets in the way of first-aid treatment. None of the bandages looked like they'd do much good, and already the bleeding was mostly finished. Quatre tracked his movements with an odd look, disoriented and concerned like a baby bird hurled down from its nest and left stranded.

"Where's Sandy?" Quatre asked, in the exact same plaintive way as before.

"He's around here somewhere. Here, I'll help you look. Can you stand?"

With the promise of finding his bear as motivation, Quatre clutched a grip into Trowa's offered arm and made an unsteady attempt at getting to his feet. Although he managed it with only a slight difficulty, Trowa mistrusted entirely the unsure placement of Quatre's feet. He coaxed gently and was rewarded with Quatre's arms around his neck, the boy relaxed and trusting as Trowa lifted his slight, easy weight. Having Quatre flinch from his touch was its own delicate form of torture, so Trowa was glad at the renewed sense of calm between them.

Trowa carried him into the bedroom and side-stepped the puddle of cola. He lowered Quatre on to the bed and refrained at the last minute from gracing a tender kiss to the upturned curve of his face. The swelling bump on his forehead checked Trowa's affections, as the last thing he wanted was to cause Quatre any further pain.

"Wait here," Trowa said. He held up a hand to emphasize the point, and Quatre nodded.

Trowa dressed quickly in the first shirt he grabbed out of his closet and the same jeans as yesterday. He cautioned Quatre again to stay put before attending to the spilled soda. The chaos in the living room greeted him in accusation as Trowa crossed through on the way to get paper towels from the kitchen. He literally stumbled across Sandy, who'd gotten lumped up between the couch and kitchen door.

Quatre lit up at the sight of his bear when Trowa returned. He held out both hands in eager, silent pleading, and Trowa gladly turned Sandy over to his owner. Quatre watched from his spot sitting on the bed as Trowa scrubbed up what he could from the carpet. He tossed the used towels into the bathroom wastebasket once finished and came back to find Quatre exactly as he'd left. Since cleaning was at least something productive to be doing, Trowa picked Quatre up again and transferred the both of them into the living room.

With the coffee table set to rights and the phone replaced into its cradle, the only real task left was gathering up all the stupid little pills. Trowa resented each round tablet that he dug out of the carpet and hated the plinking sound of them falling back into the prescription bottle. He'd throw them all away, just as soon as he finished collecting them.

"Don't." The soft sound of Quatre's voice startled him so much that one tablet jumped out from his fingers.

Trowa rose from his hands and knees to look over at Quatre, whom he'd placed on the couch. "What?"

Quatre turned owl-eyes back at him. "Don't," he said again. "Don't, Trowa."

"Okay," agreed Trowa at once. He wasn't quite sure what he needed to do or stop doing, but he definitely didn't like the seeing the bewildered alarm on Quatre's face. No, of course, the stupid pill bottle – Trowa set it quickly on the coffee table and then got all the way to his feet. "I'm just picking them up," he told Quatre. "That's all, I promise."

"No," said Quatre. He started to frown, but the expression turned into a twinging wince with the way his brow pulled at the bump.

Trowa joined him on the sofa and carefully took Quatre's hand into his own. "It's all right," he said quietly. Words rose and fell in a nervous swallow. "I won't do that to you. I – I'm so sorry, Quatre. I never meant to hurt you. I wasn't thinking... I thought it would be better, if – but I do love you, very much. I don't want to leave you. I won't, ever again, I promise. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," said Quatre. He looked so dear and precious, even bashed up and confused, or maybe that fragility only worsened the aching tenderness that Trowa felt so intensely. He remembered the broken accusations that Quatre shot at him from behind the closed door, and Trowa's own shameful, cowardly responses, and the reckless fury that drove the entire nightmare to follow. He recalled the depth of his fear and how that hollow terror now filled and overflowed with ardent devotion and regret.

Quatre's fingers fell against Trowa's cheek and brushed aside glistening sorrow. Trowa blinked, confused, before realizing the tears were his own. "Don't cry," Quatre said softly, sweetly, and it unhinged Trowa entirely.

Trowa couldn't stop himself from apologizing, over and over, even when the words shattered into sobs and Quatre's hushed comfort broke equally, and the two of them wrapped each other close and cried out all the terribleness of the day. Afterward Trowa felt wrung out but immensely lifted, buoyant and calm like never before. It was like for so long his little boat had been in rough waters, and now the white-capped ocean stilled before him, beautiful and aquamarine.

He kissed Quatre, almost chaste with gentleness, and cupped a hand to the unhurt side of his face. Quatre tilted into the touch, and Trowa searched intently over the boy's face for a moment. "How do you feel?"

"My head hurts," said Quatre. The words came distinctly separate rather than slurred, and there was now clarity in the way he stared back at Trowa.

"You fell," said Trowa. "You hit your head. Do you remember that?"

Quatre shook his head a fractional amount, and fortunately this time the denial did not sunder him into anxious cringing. He dropped his gaze to his hands, which had resumed their death-grip on poor Sandy. The bear failed to put up much fuss at being mashed about, however, and gradually Quatre's hold lessened. "Everything hurts," he said quietly.

Trowa offered a silent apology with the whisper of his hand over Quatre's arm. Faint contusions ran the line of his wrist and up past his elbow, red and angry from all their vicious struggling earlier. Trowa winced at the memory of his touch lacking kindness and the hideous sound of Quatre striking the table. That was a memory he doubted would go away anytime soon, especially given the extremely visible, painful evidence.

"What do you remember?" asked Trowa. "Quatre? What's the last thing you remember?"

He seemed to consider the question. "Duo."

"Duo?" Trowa's stomach flopped with a numb sort of dread. That would mean last night, leaving the coffee shop, or maybe yesterday afternoon at Heero's apartment, or – even vaguer, further stretches of memory.

"He called," said Quatre. It seemed difficult for him to think, and his brow made another flinching attempt at a frown. "Then you. I remember you... But then I..." Distress twisted his mouth into a downward bow.

"It's okay," Trowa said swiftly. "Oh, honey – You hit your head pretty hard."

If Quatre didn't remember their fight over the pills, or at least not with any grasping understanding, Trowa was loathe to rehash it. He didn't want to alarm Quatre unnecessarily or cause a scene, and he definitely did not want to make Quatre relive the panicked fit afterward. Last time, at the flophouse, Quatre woke up out of his faint without seeming to know why he'd gone down in the first place, or at least not acknowledging it, and Trowa wasn't sure what, if anything, Quatre ever remembered from his breakdowns.

A rapid knocking on the front door startled them both. Quatre reacted by nearly jumping off the cushions, and Sandy suffered another mauling in the process. Trowa stood and gestured for Quatre to stay where he was. He crossed to the window first and peered out. As if summoned by some magical mention of his name, Duo stood bouncing on his toes in front of the door.

"It's Duo," he told Quatre.

"Oh," said Quatre. "Yes. But I told him not to come. I remember that."

Duo knocked again, drumming a continuous, obnoxious rhythm until Trowa opened the door. He stayed in the frame, subtly blocking Duo's entry into the apartment, but Trowa's wariness faded when he caught sight of the anxious twist of Duo's smile. "Trowa!" he said. "Oh, thank God!"

Trowa twitched a frown at him. "What are you doing here?"

Duo's eyes widened. "Right. You talk now. I mean, shit, I'm supposed to say that kind of thing. Forget I said that. Let's start over. Except I started pretty terribly, too, right out the gate with the deity thanking and— Argh, dammit, still not good. Okay, better idea – Hi, Trowa! Can I come in?"

Trowa knew Duo well enough to recognize the hyped-up mania, and he briefly considered the cruelty of denying the request. He was only thinking of Quatre, quiet and confused and needing calm rather than Duo's high-energy exuberance… at least at first, that was all he thought about. Equally strong was his old reluctance, scratching at his throat and begging for the silence which had protected him for so long. He tried to quell the deep sense of unease that plagued him.

As he hesitated over the decision, a slight weight bumped against him. "Duo?" came Quatre's soft voice. He'd slipped up entirely unnoticed behind Trowa.

"Cutie-Q! Hiya. I was just – Oh, my _God_." Duo froze, eyes huge and insatiably curious.

Trowa wrapped a securing arm over Quatre's shoulders. Pale white beneath the bruising, with his huge fallen-angel eyes and gold halo of hair with dried blood flecked through his bangs, Quatre certainly gave every appearance of deserving Duo's breathless exclamation.

"Careful," Trowa admonished Quatre gently. He flashed a stern look of warning to Duo at the same time. "You shouldn't be up. Here, Quatre—" He steered him back across the living room and left the door open for Duo to take as an invitation.

Duo stepped inside and nudged the door closed behind him. When Trowa settled Quatre on the couch again, Duo came forward with an unusual timidity. Quatre pulled his legs up under himself and shifted the troubled weight of his gaze between Trowa and Duo in equal turns. Duo's attention stuck on the orange prescription bottle, and he let out a soft, "Aha!"

"Quatre? I'm going to get you a glass of water, all right?" Trowa waited for Quatre to nod. "Duo, come help me in the kitchen."

"What? Yeah. Uh, okay," said Duo. He dragged his eyes off the little bottle and across the handful of pills still strewn into the carpet. The two of them went into the kitchen, and Duo exploded into a hissed, "What the _fuck_! What the _hell_ did you do to him! Trowa, I'm gonna kick your ass if—"

"It was an accident," Trowa snapped. He hated how defensive that sounded, but his own guilt ran pretty high enough already without Duo's skyrocketing it further. He picked a glass out of the cabinet and shoved it under the faucet. "What are you doing here, Duo?"

"Uh, oh. Right. Shit." Duo stuck the end of his braid into his mouth and gave it a vicious chewing before spitting it out. "So, long story short – I swear to God I can actually manage that, this time. Heero starts asking me this morning about some hoard of knock-you-outs or whatever that Zechs supposedly squirreled away into my room, and I'm like, well, duh, I didn't take 'em, and I figured – Aha! You do look guilty as sin. I fucking knew it. Jesus Christ on crackers, Trowa."

"Keep your voice down." Trowa forgot to the turn the water off, and it overflowed over the rim of the glass into his hand. He quickly poured out the excess and set the glass side before drying his hands.

"Right-o," said Duo in a whisper. "Not that I didn't see 'em, you know, sitting on your fucking coffee table just a second ago. What the hell happened? Trowa, seriously, if I go in there and Quatre tells me you had some fucking fight or some shit – Oh, my God. You did have a fight. You did that to him. You look way guiltier than sin, like some, some, some—" Duo's voice strangled to a stunned, arrested halt.

Trowa folded his arms over the lip of the sink and sunk into them, forehead pressed against the scars. "No," he moaned, utterly miserable with the crashing sense of guilt. "I swear to you, Duo. I didn't mean for Quatre to get hurt. It was an _accident_."

"Fuck," said Duo. "Hey. It's okay, Trowa. Look, man, okay. I know you'd never mean to hurt him. I know that. I'm sorry. I get that you're in a bad place right now." Duo's hand fell against his shoulder and gripped it with intended comfort. "Trowa, if you're down in that well – You gotta let us in, okay? No one wants to lose you."

"Okay," said Trowa.

"I'm serious," said Duo, although he mostly sounded surprised at Trowa's quick acquiescence. "That's what friends are for. You're not the only one to ever think about offing himself, you know. I guess I might have come close a couple times to, you know, wanting that kind of grim ending. But I'm way too lazy, so, _yay_."

Trowa nearly laughed; he could feel the hysterical urge rise like gorge in his throat. He swallowed instead and said, "Thanks."

"Yeah. No problem. Okay, so. Tell me what happened, Tro. I believe you'd never just haul out and K.O. Cutie-Q, but that's a hell of a bump on his head, and he's looking shaky as fuck."

Trowa sighed and lifted his head up from the defeated slouch against the counter. "I guess you called Quatre while I was in the shower, to warn him."

"Yup," said Duo. "I totally did do that. He hung up on me, too. And I'm guessing that's what you guys had a pretty nasty fight over, so you can skip that part and get to the section where Quatre got his skull split open."

Trowa shuddered at mental image. "Long story short, huh?" He quickly sketched the bare-bones details for Duo, whose eyes grew huge like teacups. He fairly quivered with suppressed interest to delve into the parts that Trowa omitted, he maintained a miraculous silence until Trowa stumbled to an awkward halt around Quatre's panicked reaction.

"_Fuck_," said Duo. "You really were going to kill—"

Trowa shook his head. "Please, don't." The feeble, flinching quality of his own voice came as a shock. Trowa pressed a hand over his mouth in horror.

Duo jolted as if bit. "Right! Sorry. Just, the well, you know?"

The kitchen door swung slowly open behind Duo. Quatre's worried face appeared, and Trowa jerked his hand away from his mouth with the fervent hope he hadn't looked as fractured as he felt. Duo's friendly concern burned too close at wounds that were still raw, and he still felt _wrong_ talking in front of anyone other than Quatre.

"Trowa?" Quatre trembled out the question with a plucking kind of hesitation.

"He's right here, Cutie-Q," said Duo. "What'd you need?" He set a careful hand under Quatre's elbow to steady him, even though Quatre didn't look nearly so wobbly on his feet as he had earlier.

"My head really hurts." Quatre curled Sandy against his chest. "Do we have any aspirin?"

Duo and Trowa exchanged looks. They'd gotten pretty decent at reading each other over the stay in the hospital, when Duo ingrained himself into Trowa's stoicism with an almost hostile level of sociability – Trowa needed to thank him properly for that someday. The meaning that passed between their swapped gaze was unmistakably a mutual reluctance to let Quatre near any painkillers, despite the boy's profession of discomfort. Trowa was fairly certain the danger had passed from Quatre's near miss with the overdose, but judging by the answering concern in Duo's eyes the matter was far from resolved. He might seem all right now, but Trowa didn't want to tip the chemical balance out of their favor.

"No," said Trowa kindly. He tilted his head toward the sink, and Duo nodded. They swapped places, Trowa taking up the ready grip on Quatre and Duo grabbing the glass of water. "But Catherine has some in her purse. When she comes home we can ask her, if your head still hurts then."

"Oh," said Quatre. "All right."

Trowa guided him out of the kitchen and once more to the couch. Duo followed, and the two of them got Quatre settled down between them and sipping at the water without any fuss. Duo smiled, bright and easy. "Hey, Q-ball. Do you mind if I get a look at that bump on your head?"

Quatre half-lifted a hand to his face, as if having forgotten about the wound until Duo's attention fixed on it. "Oh," he said, quite small and unsure. "Okay."

"Let me know if I poke something I shouldn't and it hurts, okay?" Duo cautiously brushed aside the stiff veil of bangs and peered close at the swollen up knot. Trowa leaned forward as well, or at least started to. He saw the sudden flash of unease in Quatre's eyes at the combined scrutiny, and he quickly withdrew.

"Hmmm," drawled Duo. "Yeah, that's pretty nasty looking. How'd you get it?"

"I hit my head," said Quatre. He glanced at Trowa as he said it.

"What! No way. How'd you do that?"

"Um. I fell."

"Yeah? What'd you fall on, Cutie-Q?"

"Um," said Quatre. He slowly pulled Sandy toward his face and closed an anxious bite over the bear's ear.

Trowa tucked a protective arm over Quatre's shoulders and tugged him away from Duo. He understood the well-intentions Duo meant with the line of questioning, but he couldn't stand seeing the way that Quatre's eyes filled with fear as he struggled to come up with the right answer. He hugged the smaller boy close. "You hit your head on the coffee table," he reminded Quatre. "And everything's fine now, so you don't have to worry about a thing. I'm sorry your head hurts. Just try to rest now. It'll feel better soon."

Duo's eyes narrowed in irritable disapproval. "Quatre? Do you mind if I borrow Trowa again? We're gonna go into the other room and gossip like a couple of clucking hens, so you should hang out here with Sandy."

"All right," said Quatre, perfectly docile with the suggestion. He eased out of Trowa's arms and took up a wrangling hold on his bear instead.

In the kitchen, Duo held up a hand to forestall Trowa's non-existent protests. "I'm pretty sure he's got one heck of a concussion, Tro. Did he black out at all?"

Trowa shook his head. "Not when he fell. He was just winded, and then he started panicking again, like yesterday. He went out for just a few seconds when I got him calmed down, but that was it."

"Were his pupils ever like crooked Dalmatian spots, one huge and one little or anything?"

"I did check his eyes; they were fine. Why?"

"Heero banged his head once. Actually kind of funny, how it happened, but he cracked his head pretty hard on the bleachers at school and actually did get knocked out for, like, a full minute. And it was terrifying, 'cause it was kind of my fault. I dragged him to the nurse's office afterward. She checked his eyes and asked him and me both a ton of questions. Like she kept asking Heero was color shirt he was wearing, and you know Heero, he can't not answer a direct question, so he kept having to look at his shirt because you could tell he had no clue otherwise. Then he puked on her shoes, which was awesome, but it got him sent into town to get his head scanned at the hospital. When they sent him back that night I had to sit up with him and every, like, four hours or whatever make sure he hadn't slipped off the deep end into a coma. 'Hey, buddy, what's your name? Do you remember what happened to you?' And poor Heero, hardly able to put two words together, but by God if he didn't try to answer me all the same. Oh, he got better though. Obviously. Still. Yeah, definitely a concussion."

"Oh," said Trowa. His pulse pounded harshly. "So do you think I should take Quatre to the hospital?"

"Fuck," said Duo. "I don't know. How hard did he hit his head?"

A shiver ran over Trowa. "Pretty hard."

"But he didn't black out?"

Trowa shook his head. He remember Quatre moaning in pain, dazed but conscious, just before the explosion of panic.

"And I guess he puked more because you were – Shit, I'd nearly forgotten about that lovely bout of poor decision making. Well. Like I said, Heero hit his head hard enough to black out, and he was even more scrambled up than poor Cutie-Q out there afterward, and he turned out fine with nothing more than a little T.L.C. and ibuprofen. I mean, I know Heero's pretty damn thick-headed otherwise, but all joking aside we both know what'll happen if you drag Quatre in for some CAT scans. We'll never see him again, not unless Daddy dearest spontaneously decides to sign the discharge papers to spring him from Saint Helen's tender embrace. I guess if he gets any worse we won't have a choice, though, so just keep an eye on him. Better back in Hel' than, fuck, I don't know. I do want to shake a little sense into him for playing Russian Roulette with 'scripts; what the hell was he thinking? Ah, sorry," said Duo abruptly. "I didn't mean that against you or anything."

"He says the last thing he remembers is when you called," Trowa said. He was pleased with the even tone, considering the roiling mess of guilt at Duo's flippant, rhetorical question. They both knew what Quatre had been thinking, even if Quatre himself had forgotten it.

"Well, all right," said Duo. "I was a bit off my rocker anyway for that conversation, so don't have him repeat it to you. I think I managed to calm myself down somewhat on the ride over – still totally feel tweaked, but at my vision stopped vibrating the fuck around like it was earlier, and I'm about three seconds less from— Never mind. Look, I was thinking. What's left of ol' Zechsiekin's stash, why don't I take it? Maybe something in there'll be good for settling out my mood, you know? Heero's gonna flip if he comes from work and I'm still this keyed up, and, hey, honesty time; I _really_ hate feeling this out of control. Oh, man, don't tell anyone I said that."

"Of course," said Trowa. He couldn't stop the involuntary shudder as he heard the words echoed by his mother's saccharine cruelty; _don't tell anyone I said that_. How was he supposed to keep any secrets if he kept talking like this?

Duo twitched a way too perceptive study over him. "Hey. What's wrong, Tro? What'd I say? Look – I legit do just want to get at those pills to see if they can help me. Don't get me wrong, there's the added bonus of keeping them out of your hands and not via Quatre's stomach this time, but if you, I don't know, feel like fighting me for them or whatever I kind of get that. I won't force you. It needs to be your choice."

"No," said Trowa. He shook free of the paralysis caused by hearing his mother's voice, even in memory. "Please, take them. I don't want them."

"Yeah?" Duo grinned. "Glad to hear that, man. We like having you around. Hey. Come here." He threw his arms over Trowa for a hug. "I love you like a bro for life, you know that? And I promise I'll never call you Tro-Bro. Except right now. Right now I totally just called you that. First and only time though, I swear." Duo released him and clapped Trowa on the back with typical enthusiasm.

They went back into the living room and found Quatre curled in on himself with Sandy dangling off the edge of the sofa. Duo sat next to him and spoke softly. "Head still feel rotten, kiddo?"

Quatre nodded.

"Sorry to hear that. I'm gonna skedaddle now, but come give me a hug before I roll out." Quatre obediently pulled himself upright and tipped into Duo's waiting arms. Duo tucked his dark head close to Quatre's fair one and whispered something far beyond Trowa's eavesdropping ability. Whatever it was, Quatre nodded and squeezed Duo tight. He whispered back, feather soft, and Duo grinned. Trowa saw the way his hand lifted, as if to ruffle Quatre's hair, before the gesture changed into an awkward kind of empty flap.

Since it seemed rude to pry at the two friends' clearly private exchange, Trowa used the moment of Quatre's distraction to gather up the last couple pills out of the carpet. He had no idea where the cap had gone; it was probably somewhere in the hallway, but when he passed the bottle off to Duo, the other boy carefully closed his palm over the open top.

"Bye!" Duo called again at the door, earning a small half-wave from Quatre. Trowa followed him to the door. Duo lowered his voice. "Call me if you need anything, okay? Totally serious about that. Actually, just call me later anyway for a status update. I'd tell you come over for dinner or something absurdly domestic like that, but I'm betting Cath— Oh, shit. What about Catherine? If she sees Quatre all bashed up like this... fuck."

He'd forgotten entirely about his sister. Trowa shook his head, unwilling to consider the question. It didn't seem fair to him on top of all his other problems.

Quatre's voice drifted over to them. Duo had neglected to whisper in his sudden excitement, and he'd overheard them. "She knows. It's okay, I told her."

Duo pushed back into the room. "What'd you tell her?" He glanced at Trowa. "Did you tell her about hitting your head already, Cutie-Q?"

"No," said Quatre. Fortunately, as Trowa knew for a fact that Quatre had not told Catherine anything of the sort, and if he'd insisted otherwise, well, that would fall under Duo's dubious medical advice of seeing the concussion symptoms getting worse. Quatre peeped an anxious look at Trowa. "I told her, um. About me. Not you, Duo. I didn't tell her that."

Trowa and Duo swapped looks again. "About you what?" prompted Duo.

"Oh. Um, where I met Trowa. What I'm doing here. Just, that."

Dead silence greeted Quatre's innocent explanation. His eyes rounded at them with cringing self-reproach. "Are you mad...?"

"No!" said Duo and Trowa, right on top of each other and both with entirely too much force. It was nearly comical, if not for the way Quatre flinched back against the sofa cushions. Duo rushed to explain, "We're not mad, Quatre. Promise, no one's mad at you. I was just surprised, that's all."

"What'd she say?" asked Trowa. He gripped the door to stay upright. His head swam with all kinds of terrible reactions, but none of them gained ground under the glaring fact that Catherine had gone to work that morning just as scheduled. She'd even pardoned Trowa from following her. He hadn't been in the right frame of mind earlier to consider that, but now that he churned over Quatre's confession and he realized the importance of her leaving Quatre and him alone in the apartment all morning.

"She said it was fine," said Quatre. He bit at Sandy again.

"Right you are Totally fine, then. Grand. Dandy. Super fan-fucking-tastic." Duo switched into a low mutter, "Yeah, good luck with that. Give me a call ASAP if I need to rush over and grab Quatre to hide out with me and Heero, okay?"

Trowa nodded and saw Duo off to the door again, this time for good. He took a moment to collect himself against the closed apartment door before turning to face Quatre's worried, woebegone look. It was effortless enough to hush comfort at Quatre, harder still to convince himself it was the truth. Trowa fetched the comforter off his bed and wrapped it over the both of them as he settled Quatre into his lap to rest. Quatre laid the unhurt side of his face on Trowa's thigh and curled tight against him.

Trowa stroked a hand over Quatre's arm. "I really do love you," he said.

"Okay," murmured Quatre. He nestled more securely into Trowa's arms. "Me too," he said. The simplicity of it made Trowa smile.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

My ears are scorching from your last round of reviews! Just teasing. I may have had a victory glass of wine in between finishing this chapter and posting it, so forgive me. Thank you as always for reading, for your comments, and I'll be hard at work on the next update!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	99. Confession

LSC / 10-23-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter Ninety-Nine: Confession)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 99

**Confession**

* * *

For lunch Trowa made them each a sandwich, but Quatre barely nibbled at his despite all Trowa's gentle coaxing. "I don't feel well," he said at last. Or, more accurately, mumbled at Sandy's stitched face.

"Are you going to throw up?" asked Trowa. He thought of Heero vomiting on the school nurse's shoes and felt a twinge of fear.

Quatre hesitated and then slowly shook his head. He meekly ate a few more bites of his lunch. He glanced at Trowa in between each swallow, either looking for praise or wanting to avoid punishment, and Trowa endeavored to keep as neutral of expression as possible.

Before Catherine was due back, Trowa took Quatre into the bathroom and more thoroughly cleaned his face. He scrubbed out the dried blood from the flaxen bangs and carefully dabbed a damp cotton ball over the actual wound. Quatre winced at even the most delicate touches to his injury, prompting Trowa to apologize, and each flinching hiss of pain sent a needle of endless guilt into Trowa's already overdriven sense of shame. Somehow the wide, trusting weight of Quatre's troubled gaze made it all the worse.

Trowa debated how to best handle his sister. He considered hiding Quatre in his bedroom to delay the inevitable confrontation, versus keeping Quatre front and center to get it out of the way. The first option would leave Trowa alone to _talk_ to her about it, and his skin crawled at the idea. Unfortunately what made the decision for him was the unknowable factor of Catherine's reaction. He could all too easily see her overwhelming Quatre with well-intended concern.

It was all well and good to decide where Quatre should be when Catherine came home, but actually ensuring that happened as planned proved unexpectedly difficult. Trowa told Quatre to lay down in the bed and rest more, but immediately after Trowa left the room a small blond shadow came trailing after him.

"Quatre? Did you need something?" The crushed look of distress on Quatre's face alarmed him terribly, and Trowa rushed to intercept him in the hallway.

Quatre announced, "I'm forgetting something."

"Okay," said Trowa. He collected Quatre in a brief hug before guiding him back into the bedroom. "It's okay if you can't remember something. If you lie down a bit I'm sure it'll come to you eventually."

"No, it's important," insisted Quatre.

"It can't be that important if you've forgotten it already." Trowa smiled, as he intended the words to be a light joke, but Quatre's mouth pulled down into a sudden, sorrowful curve. "No – Quatre, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "But, please. Don't worry about it, okay? Just lay here quietly and try to think it over if you can, and if you can't that's fine too. Okay?"

Quatre nodded, so Trowa left again to wait for Catherine. Within not even five minutes, Quatre came wandering back out of the bedroom again. "Trowa, I'm forgetting something."

So Trowa sat on the edge of the bed and played a demented game of twenty questions to try and help Quatre puzzle out whatever it was bothering him. He purposefully stayed away from all topics related to coffee tables and orange prescription bottles, just to be safe. Eventually Quatre agreed to let the subject drop, and Trowa stepped out into the hall.

He stood right outside the bedroom door this time, rather than waste effort pacing from the couch to the hall and back. Sure enough, Quatre popped back out the same lost-puppy whine. "Trowa, I'm—"

"Quatre, honey, you have got to just lie down and rest, okay?" It was either the unexpected closeness of Trowa being right outside the door or the slight exasperation in his voice, but no matter the reason, Quatre flinched back with Sandy up as a shield. Trowa counted slowly and silently to five before speaking again. "Okay. It's okay. I'm not mad at you. Let's try to figure it out again, okay? What do you think you've forgotten?"

"I don't know," mumbled Quatre.

Trowa studied him carefully and wondered if the strange persistence counted as a worsening symptom. He wished for Duo, who at least seemed to have some understanding of things. Trowa sighed. "Does it… have to do with Sandy?"

"No," said Quatre. He allowed Trowa's hand on his arm and went willingly toward the bed when guided.

"Does it have to do with me?"

"Oh," said Quatre. "Yes. That's it. You."

"What about me?" Trowa pulled the blanket up under the boy's chin.

"I don't know." Quatre bit Sandy's ear, as he always did when becoming overly anxious. Trowa smoothed a gentle hand over the unhurt side of Quatre's face and very carefully threaded his fingers into the soft hair around his ear.

"Lunch," said Quatre at last.

Trowa wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Lunch?"

"Yes."

"What about lunch?"

"I don't—Oh!" Quatre jerked upright, quick enough that it made him whimper with some throbbing jolt of headache. "Your medicine."

"What?" Trowa gently pushed the boy back into the pillow.

"Catherine gave it to me. Your pill, to take after lunch. I nearly forgot." Quatre sounded pleased with himself for finally remembering such a vitally important inconsequentially stupid thing as Trowa's daily antidepressant. Which was a rather callous and unfair level of sarcasm even for the privacy of Trowa's own thoughts, so he wisely hunted up the dosage from Quatre's jeans. At least Trowa could hopefully rely on Quatre to stay put in the bedroom, now that the case of the nearly jilted responsibility was solved.

Trowa dry-swallowed the medication without fuss. It was the same prescription he'd been using for more or less the past two years. They'd switched him off the first one, the kind he polished off in one gulp, due to the rather understandable concern it hadn't worked as intended. Trowa had no idea if the medication did anything for him. He couldn't remember feeling significantly better or worse after starting treatment, and the second blend of the same basic chemical components still didn't keep him from ruining his arms with two long red scars. Maybe he'd be even more of a mess without the little daily dose of mood stabilizes. It made Catherine happy to see him keep to the routine, so Trowa did so.

He did hate his therapy, which was an exercise in staring at the wall and letting his mind wander while Catherine talked about him and grew weepy and feebly brave in turns. It was at least better than sessions without her, in which he still stared at the wall, but the doctor talked into the silence instead. Letting Catherine in and calling it family therapy worked better than the particular slow forms of torture that had come before, like the child psychiatrist when he was nine who insisted he draw a picture. They wouldn't let him out of the room until he did, so Trowa drew the sloppiest bunny rabbit ever and got asked a bunch of questions about his puppy.

And he didn't even have a dog; he and Catherine had the rabbits Daisy and Duchess, and after Catherine moved out for boarding school they accidentally got free of the hutch one day and disappeared. Trowa cried and cried big silent tears and his mother told him to be more careful next time, but of course there wouldn't be a next time because she had the hutch taken away the next day. When Catherine came home for winter break and found out, she hugged Trowa and told him it was okay, that bunnies did just fine in the wild, but he knew that was a lie because no one was going to feed Daisy and Duchess little pieces of lettuce anymore. His mother stood near the tree under the bright cheery lights and told Catherine that Trowa hadn't meant to leave the hutch open, that he was only a child, and it was so good of her to forgive him.

On Christmas Eve his mother had a few too many glasses of champagne with her friends, who'd come and gone with Trowa sent to Sit Quietly in his room, rather than the hall closet. Catherine was allowed half a glass mixed with ginger ale before being sent upstairs, but that was because Trowa's mother called her dear and smiled her fake little smile and sent her a check and a brief letter every month. And Catherine wrote back, too, a couple of pretty paragraphs for Trowa's mother and entire sheets of electric neon stationary for Trowa, a one-sided conversation that he sometimes struggled to read but couldn't ask anyone for help with the big words. And he never wrote back, but that didn't stop her from sending the letters.

Very late after everyone had gone, Trowa's mother came into his room and sat on his bed and brushed her hand over his bangs and sung a few lines of "White Christmas," and then abruptly told him not to be so sad about the rabbits, because she'd been the one to leave the hutch door open. "Silly little things wouldn't go anywhere, so I put them in the yard and still they wouldn't hop off, even when I yelled and stamped my feet. Had to get hose out and chase them off that way, and oh you should have seen them scurry." She giggled like Catherine did when talking to her friends over the telephone about boys and music and clothes, and then she kissed his cheek very sweetly and reminded him, "Don't tell anyone I said that." Christmas morning he couldn't look Catherine in the eyes and pushed her away when she tried to hug him, which only made him feel even more guilty and miserable and sick. His mother sent him upstairs to his room until he could promise to be nice to his sister. He sat on his bed and thought about the rabbits, and that was the first time he felt his boat unmoor and begin to drift out to sea.

The sound of Catherine's key in the lock jolted him free of nasty recollection. Trowa tightened his hands into fists to quell the sudden trembling. Catherine pushed open the door and called, "Trowa! Quatre! I'm—" before noticing him sitting there, alone, perched on the end of the couch and staring right at her. Something must have shown on his face despite all his care to the contrary, because she immediately swung the door closed and dropped her purse to the floor with the same bit of momentum.

"Trowa? Is everything all right?"

He nodded, because his throat seized with sudden, unbearable reluctance when he tried to answer her otherwise. Trowa swallowed and wished he'd thought to refill Quatre's water glass from earlier. It sat in the middle of the table on top of his crossword puzzle book, but it was empty.

Catherine transferred her purse from the floor to the armchair and stood there looking at him with gentle concern. "Where's Quatre? He didn't leave, did he?"

Trowa shook his head. There was a weight compacting his lungs and making it impossible to draw anything more than quick, shallow breaths. Cold sweat made his palms clammy, and he pressed them against his knees. He needed to calm down. It was just Catherine. He'd talked to her last night, however briefly. Quatre had been with him then, and he hadn't thought it would matter because he'd given up on caring in the bleakest sense possible. Well now he did care, he cared so much it hurt and made him dizzy. Old bad habits clung at his tongue and rendered him just as impossibly mute as ever, and Trowa struggled to find his voice.

"What's wrong?" asked Catherine. She sat beside him on the cushions, right up close, so that their knees pressed together, and her hand closed over his. "Trowa?"

"I need to talk to you." The words shot out of him like gunfire.

"Oh!" Her hand jumped into a squeeze. "A-all right." She recovered admirably from the shock of hearing him speak. Trowa wondered how it was for her, having last heard his voice in the high timbre of boyishness, and if she even recognized the new sound. She worked her fingers through his and pressed encouragement into the threaded union of their hands. "Take your time," said Catherine. Kind and patient as always.

Trowa opened his mouth, and out came everything. _Everything_. It was like a wicked possession took hold of him and drew forth an endless tidal wave of words. Everything he'd ever tried to keep secret, everything he'd ever choked into silence, poured out in a calm, flat monotone. He couldn't look at Catherine, but he could feel the weight of her attention. She listened with the same one-sided adherence as Trowa always listened to her when they were kids, except rather than the light, teenage babble that Catherine foisted on her quiet little brother, Trowa tumbled into existence a near decade's worth of constrained words.

He confessed to the most recent relapse, that was his starting point; Trowa admitted to Catherine that he'd intended to overdose again, with the gleeful excess found between the mattress and the box spring, and then when he tried to tell her about the fight with Quatre everything fell apart. He kept stretching further and further into the past, trying to explain, until it no longer mattered. He told her about the first time, when he went to the roof of the school and stared out at the flat landscape and felt the stretching emptiness within himself echo out into dark desire. And then Trowa broke the oldest reluctance of all, the deepest of his secrets. He shaped into existence the ghost of his mother and gave her a voice, cold and distant. He told Catherine his mother's words. How she'd thanked him and recommended a taller building. He told someone what she'd said, after all the years, after all her sweet admonishments.

Trowa heard the soft, shocked intake of her breath, but Catherine didn't stop him. Trowa wasn't sure he could stop, even if she tried. He described Sit Quietly and all the times he sat in the hall closet, including the long night when he was very young, maybe three or four, and his mother left him so long alone in the cramped, dark space that he grew frightened and jittery and had an accident, even though he was much too old for that, and Trowa wept like the child he was in absolute silence for the shame and fear of it all. He told her the same memory that he'd foisted on Quatre, about the park and how he learned the truth of his mother's smile, and then Trowa reached even an deeper cruelty. He told Catherine what his mother had to say on the matter of Mr. Bloom and his money, and how Trowa hated every last penny that sat in a bank account with his name on it.

Encouraged by the hushed power of her rapt attention, or maybe thrust into rising hysterics by the fear of her response, Trowa kept going. Daisy and Duchess's fate shook free of his long-held silence, and swiftly after came his mother's drunk confession to the crime. More and more of his mother's countless little cruelties came forward; the time that she pinched him black and blue for laughing too loud when she had a headache, back when he was young enough to laugh, the careless off-hand way that she called him shy in front of people followed by the hissed threats that she only dared make when others couldn't hear, and even her whimsical little what-if about Catherine's father wanting an extra child underfoot in the nice big house. Trowa was never sure what would have happened to him if Mr. Bloom didn't like kids, but it was probably no more than he tried to do to himself – and failed, thrice over.

On the subject of Catherine's father he nearly lost. There it was at last, the first time in his young life that he willfully disobeyed his mother. She asked him to speak a lie, a well-intended white lie, something that he should have been able to put into words, even if as a boy he felt conflicted loyalty over the tall man in the hospital bed and the stranger with green eyes in his mother's photo album. Catherine's father wanted him, when no one else did, and gave him a house and a little girl who treated him like the best new toy ever until she loved him truly like a sister, even if they weren't actually related. His mother asked him to speak a lie, so Trowa gave only silence for nine miserable years.

He reached deeper and found more pitiable memories, ones he'd tried to forget and apparently failed. He found words to describe the helpless shame of his scars and the miserable guilt of therapy, and Trowa even managed to convey some of his own frustrations with how everyone treated him for having gone silent all the long years ago. He expressed the rapturous peace of darkness that followed the agony of cutting open his arms and how intensely he wished it had worked, and how terrible he felt now for having put Catherine through such grief.

And just when he thought that had to be the end of it, that there was nothing left, Trowa struck up against the absolute worst of himself. The confession flew up out of the tangled snarl of so many other secrets and slipped free before he could think to snatch it back. Even with all his newfound appreciation and clarity and the strength of love to buoy him, Trowa absolutely would rather have ended it all that hear that one, final secret put into words. It came broken and fractured but hideously coherent, and it was the last to be managed before silence reclaimed him.

He told Catherine of the day the guidance counselor pulled him into her office and spoke with bewildering sympathy about a woman who loved to drive fast and hated to wear a seatbelt, and how Trowa's sluggish attention to the conversation suddenly crystallized into the realization that his mother was dead – And, there it was, oh, _God_, Trowa heard the words as if another voice spoke them. Not his own, surely not, he'd rather be dead himself than have that secret aired aloud. He'd felt no sadness, no sorrow, no grief at his mother's passing. He was _relieved_ when his mother died. He stood dry-eyed at her gravesite and heard Catherine's piteous weeping and felt nothing but a dull sense of release. And after, when Catherine hugged him and whispered, _Now we only have each other_, Trowa knew that he deserved none of her kindness just as he'd never been worthy of his mother's love, and that silence was the least he could offer. And much later, when the therapist Catherine picked for him prescribed antidepressants to help Trowa through the difficulty of his supposed mourning, he swallowed all that remained in the bottle and woke to the sound of Catherine's tears all the same.

Trowa at last brought his eyes up from the clenched knot of their hands; she'd never once let go during the whole onslaught of his speech. Catherine was crying without making a sound, and he had no way of knowing when she'd started, what individual or collective horror amid all the terrible things that he said proved to be the breaking point. His own ruin was easy to pinpoint as that final, dreadful secret, and Trowa found the devastation almost too much for his own mere sobbing to express.

"Oh, _Trowa_," said Catherine, and his name had never sounded so wretched coming from her. "I never knew. I'm so sorry, Trowa, I never—" She leaned to embrace him, but there were already arms clinched around him in a fierce hug: Quatre, and God only knew when he'd snuck into things.

There they all were, Catherine on one side and Quatre the other, and they were both holding him with intended comfort despite all the awful things they must have heard spill forth. Love and support came from his little family, with Sandy right along with the rest, as Quatre's teddy bear pressed against his heart with the tight deadlock of his owner's consoling. Maybe because he'd already indulged in tears once that day, or maybe because Catherine and Quatre both offered such earnest reassurance, but for whatever reason Trowa clung tight to the two most important people in his life, plus one teddy bear, and cried until there seemed to be nothing left in him but a dull, throbbing ache.

Only when it was finished did Trowa feel a slow, creeping embarrassment. It was bad enough to cry in front of Quatre, but doubly so for his sister. Trowa ducked his head to bring forward the concealing sweep of his bangs. He felt unsure of how to face Catherine in light of all his surrendered secrets. They seemed to stack a wall between him and everything else, somehow uglier and darker than they'd been when carried inside his silence.

Quatre leaned around him and plucked the empty water glass up from the table. Before Trowa could think to object, Quatre drifted toward the kitchen on a refill mission. Even if Trowa had reacted in time, he doubted himself capable of anymore words. He'd used them all up. A lifetime of talking, come and gone. His throat burned with shame.

Catherine kissed his damp cheeks with clear, heartbreaking absolution for all the terrible things he had said. She must have understood that the moment was too fragile for platitudes, or maybe she also felt a similar loss of words. Not the same level of lexical oblivion, of course, but possibly something close all the same. Her lips pressed again to the salted curve of his downturned face.

Quatre returned with the water and passed it into Trowa's hand. It was either accept the offered kindness or let it soak into the carpet. Once the glass was in his hands, Trowa couldn't stop himself from drinking deeply. His throat still smoldered afterward, and he stared down at the empty glass rather than look at either of them.

Quatre spoke first, with all his softness. "Catherine? Do you have aspirin?"

"Y-yes," she said. "Of course." She leaned and stretched a reach over to snag the handle of her bag. It dragged toward her and across the floor with the heavy weight of all the confiscated objects within, including the full spectrum of the medicine cabinet. "Um, let's see," she said. "I have Advil, will that work?"

Trowa closed a gentle hand over the flaps of her bag, drawing it closed and smothering her hand with the same gesture. After a moment of intense curiosity from the pair of them, he withdrew the silent objection.

Catherine doled out a single brown tablet and chucked the bottle back into her purse. "Goodness, you've got quite the goose-egg on your forehead," she said lightly. She leaned around Trowa to get a better look.

Quatre's innocuous request for aspirin seemed to have set them into matching normalcy, ignoring Trowa without actually withdrawing their tight physical support. Quatre cuddled right up against his side, and Catherine gently reclaimed Trowa's hand to interlace their fingers once more. They were giving him the space to recover from the intense emotional fallout, and that realization only served to embarrass Trowa more.

"Oh. Um, yes," said Quatre. "I fell."

"Are you all right?"

"Mhm. I – I think so?"

"Lift your hair back some. Let me get a look at it."

Quatre did so, ruffling up the fringe of his bangs to display the full extent of his injuries.

"Ah," said Catherine. Some quality of her reaction forced Trowa's attention. He jumped an anxious look at her, and she caught it with a calm smile.

Trowa flinched his eyes back down. How was he supposed to face her? He'd just shattered every memory of her childhood, admitted that he'd been keeping so many grim secrets all these years, and told her all the worst of himself. How could they sit so close to him and radiate such caring? Surely one of his countless admissions must have instilled disgust for the monster he'd pretended not to be, hiding behind his silence at the years.

Catherine squeezed his hand. "Trowa? I have something I would like to tell you, too. Is that all right?"

He managed some sketch of a nod. He braced for the hurt of her chastisement, the cold rejection he knew to be coming.

"Nothing you say will ever change the fact that you are my brother, and I love you. I promise you, if I had _any_ idea what it was like for you, back then, I never would have – Well, I don't want to act like we could change the past. What happened, happened, and I am so, so sorry that all that happened to you." Her eyes filled with tears again, but the thread of her voice stayed strong and steady as she continued. "You've always been a perfect little brother to me. I've never once regretted being your sister. Despite everything, I'm glad Dad married your mom. I'm glad that brought us together."

"Me, too," piped up Quatre. "Trowa, I love you, too."

Trowa laughed, although it was honestly more of a sob. He pulled free of them to cover his face and hunched his shaking shoulders around another chuckling moan. The tips of his fingers pressed against his eyes, blocking any further moisture. "Okay," he said. Although he was surprised to produce any sound at all, given the raw rasp of his throat. "I'm okay. You don't need to—" He broke off into a shrug.

"Well. You didn't need to tell me all that, either, but – Oh, Trowa, I'm glad you did. I really didn't know, I promise. I never would have left you alone in the house with – that, that _woman_." Catherine made it sound like the greatest profanity. "I'm sorry. She always seemed so _nice_. I just can't believe…"

Trowa tensed. He swallowed a sudden, bitter fear. "I'm not lying. I wouldn't lie about this."

Catherine dragged in a shocked gasp. "Oh, no!" She pressed at him with anxious concern, stroking his hair and shoulders and fluttering a quick hug over him. "No, no – Trowa, I would never! I know you wouldn't lie – Who could ever make up that kind of…? Trowa, please, I really didn't mean it like that."

"I wish I were lying," Trowa mumbled into his hands.

"Oh, _Trowa_." She hugged him tight, and Quatre echoed the embrace on the other side. Even Sandy seemed to squeeze him, and it was a good while later until either of them let him go. Trowa felt like that was okay, like maybe he belonged there, and everything was worth it.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

The rumors that I am actually a fanfic-writing robot are greatly exaggerated, no matter how it might seem from the recent pace of updates. Hopefully I'm not moving too quickly for you!

Thank you so much all your wonderful comments. Here's some random trivia for you: Chapter 85 was the only time (so far) in the entire story that all 6 main characters (Quatre, Duo, Trowa, Wufei, Zechs, and Heero) are in the same room/scene together. Isn't that crazy? Uh-oh, I shouldn't use the c-word! Okay, enough of my silliness – until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	100. Unrepentant

LSC / 10-25-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred: Unrepentant)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 100

**Unrepentant**

* * *

Normally Marcy didn't like to hang out in the D hallway. It was full of sophomores, who were annoying, and she normally thought it pretty funny to include Wufei in with the rest of that lackluster designation. Being a certifiable lunatic meant he'd gotten stuck a year behind where he should have been, going by both age and grades, and Marcy made a mental note to start benefiting from their blossoming friendship. Hilarious as Treize was to be around, he always pretended to be above tedious mental labor – claimed he was too old for high school fuss. Probably sucked for Wufei, only being in class a third of the time, so despite being stereotypically Asian-smart and nearly a year older than the rest of his peers, Wufei might have belonged in D hall after all.

She spotted him easily enough through a gap in the crush of students. As she got nearer, some kid bumped Wufei a bit too hard, a bit too intentional, in the shoulder. He looked up, startled, and found Marcy with the squinted, unfocused quality of his glasses-deprived vision. "Hello."

"Hey." Marcy leaned into the neighboring locker.

"You're easy to figure out," he said. Wufei transferred his heavy chemistry textbook from the locker shelf to his backpack. "I've been having a hard time of it all day, without my glasses."

"Guess there's not too many chicks with shitty blue hair running around the school," Marcy agreed. "You calling that wonder worker of yours today?"

"My case worker? I don't know." Wufei hauled the backpack out of his locker and slung it over his shoulders. "How's my face look?"

She studied her own handiwork with the concealer from that morning and touched up again at lunch. Normally she skipped out from the school at lunch for a smoke or some entrepreneurial sales, but that day she'd met Wufei in stupid D hall and walked with him through the lunch line. He ate the crap they served out of the cafeteria, slopped on to plastic trays by ladies in gross hairnets, and even when halfway through his goopy mashed potatoes when he turned into Meiran, she kept sitting next to him for the dubious fun of it.

Afterward she'd dragged Meiran into the girls' bathroom and glared down anyone who dared look askance at the bizarro-world quality of that decision. Meiran questioned the touch-up application of make-up to her face, and Marcy shrugged her way through the awkwardness of breaking Wufei's confidentiality. Fortunately, Meiran seemed accustomed to covering up bruises, and that only made Marcy all the more squishy-hearted on the subject.

"Looks all right," Marcy said. She worked the wad of her gum into a bubble. "Can't see the rest with that turtleneck on either."

Wufei touched briefly at his neck. Meiran had chucked the loose curtain of hair up into those ridiculous pigtails like always, but just before the parted ways after lunch Wufei took over again. He'd brushed the inky strands out of the twin bundles and into a high gossamer shine, same as she had that morning. _Hair down_, she assured him._ Hides everything better._

_If you say so,_ said Wufei with a frown.

"I'll call tomorrow," said Wufei. He slammed his locker shut and shot her a curious look. "Did you need something?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Yes. Well." Pink rushed into the boy's cheeks. "My eyesight is not so atrocious I cannot find my way back into the hose unaided, you know."

"Yeah. Figured. Just thought, why not, since we're both going the same way." Marcy shrugged.

"All right." Wufei hitched up his backpack. "Have you all your things already?"

Marcy jostled the front pouch of her trusty old hoodie. "Yup."

She caught his elbow on the steps; despite protests to the contrary, he'd nearly Mr. Magoo'd himself right into a nasty tumble. Wufei colored again but refrained from objecting to her guiding hand out to the less treacherous flat ground of the front quad. Marcy started for the same route she always took home, out through the teacher's lot to the main road, but at the same time Wufei veered toward the front loop of drive where the buses waited.

Marcy caught his arm again. "Go that way and you'll blunder right into a soccer mom or some shit."

"Oh," said Wufei. He worked an intense attempt at blurry focus toward the buses. "Yes. I suppose so."

The way he hesitated set a prickly sort of curiosity into a buzz. It made her extra vigilant, so she spotted _him_ before Wufei. Easy enough, considering the whole nearsighted handicap, but blue hair wasn't the only kind distinctive at a distance.

Marcy waited until she could get Wufei safely through the parking lot before setting him loose. "I forgot something in my locker. Go on ahead. I'll catch up, or, whatever, see you back at the house."

Wufei frowned at her. "I can wait, if you like."

"Nah. Don't bother. Race Deb to the T.V. and switch it to whatever's the most obnoxious."

"I will probably not do that," said Wufei. He smiled as he said it, so as to include Marcy in the joke.

She hadn't thought him capable of such dry humor. "Whatever, traitor."

They parted ways with Wufei continuing on alone, and Marcy pretending to double-back toward the school. She instead beelined straight over to the prowling stalker who, judging by the flashing look of surprise, likely thought himself invisible or some shit. He certainly looked less flashy than usual, what with the khaki pants and hilarious prep-boy sweater over a stiff collared shirt. The long sheen of platinum hair ruined the schoolboy image into something boy-band worthy.

"Oh, hey—" Zechs started to say. Marcy cracked the toe of her boot into his shin. His shocked yowl of pain completely justified the childishness of the gesture. "What was that for!"

"Fuck you!" Marcy slapped the back of her hand into his shoulder with much less satisfaction than the kick. "You know damn well what you did!"

Zechs lifted his hands in surrender, or maybe as a shield against further strikes. "I just wanted to catch Treize for a second," he said. He looked to where Wufei had been just moments ago. Since Marcy didn't see any horrified onlookers, she could only assume he'd made it safely across the street and out of sight.

"That's _Wufei_," she sneered. "Get it fucking straight."

"Was it?" Zechs said in surprise.

Marcy allowed him the tiniest amount of slack. Without his glasses and the full of his hair down and glossy, sure, duh, easy enough miscalculation. Her borrowed turtleneck on his slim figure did nothing to dispel the confusion, as the look was definitely better suited to Treize than either of the other two.

"Yeah, well," she said. "Not the first time you've made that mistake. You've got a lot of fucking nerve showing up here."

"Ah," said Zechs. He had that hurt puppy look again, but Marcy found it hard to give a shit when she considered the blanket-cocoon, the vicious marks, and the soft denial in Wufei's voice – plus the messed up horrors in his staff file. Yeah, she'd gone snooping the night before to indulge in a well-intended curiosity, and the shock of Wufei's past set her into a reluctant loyalty that went beyond thinking Treize was fun to be around.

Zechs tried a smarmy kind of smile, all charm and lighthearted bullshit. "You sound like Meiran."

"Yeah? Fuck you, too."

Zechs shrugged. "Didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah? Guess you don't mean a lot of shit, according to Wufei. You son of a bitch, I ought to—" She kicked him again, or tried to at least, but he side-stepped her. Marcy instead began to beat her fists into his shoulder, but after the third blow he caught her hand easily with a formidable grip.

Dark anger roiled over his face. "Don't. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Ha!" Marcy articulated a clear, distinct sound of bitter amusement. "What are you going to do, slap me around like you do Wufei? I'll tell you right now I'm not going to roll over and take it like he does. And don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, either; I know a damn lot more than you do. My old man used to beat my mom black and blue, and she always made the exact same sad-sack excuses for the bastard. Oh, he didn't mean it. Oh, it was a mistake – Well, fuck you, Blondie. The last thing that poor kid needs is some new bully pushing him around."

Zechs stared at her with a long, smoldering glare before slowly releasing her wrist. "What did he tell you?"

"He didn't have to say much. You left bruises all over him."

"What did he say?" Zechs demanded again. "Did he say I hit him?"

"No, he said he walked into a pole. Which I guess I believe, seeing him bang around school today blind as a fucking bat. But I'll tell you this – Whatever you've got going with Treize, whatever you're trying to do to Wufei – cut it the fuck out. Do you know anything about what all he's been through already? No wonder he's sitting there crying and making excuses for your dumbass self. You stay away from him, or I'll stab you in the fucking chest with a pair of scissors like the last motherfucker who raped him. Forget Treize's stupid infatuation – I'll tell him you fell off a cliff or—"

"What," said Zechs. He'd gone pale, a pasty kind of a green-around-the-gills look. "What are you talking about? I didn't – is that what Wufei – _what did he tell you?_"

Marcy narrowed her eyes at him. "He didn't have to tell me anything. I pulled out his file. They don't keep nearly as good of hold over that shit as they should."

"I didn't—" If he got any whiter, Marcy might have to start looking up how to administer CPR. Zechs swallowed, the knot of it bobbing over his throat. "What was in his file?"

"Oh-ho," she said. "You don't know?"

Pretty boy shook his head. He spoke hoarsely, as if strangled and left lying in a ditch like a murder victim. "Did he say that I…?"

She studied him carefully and then gasped with the stupidity of it all. "_You_ don't know? You roughed him up like that and then you have the fucking gall to _forget it?"_

By the bitch-slapped look of him, Marcy had the right of it. Zechs shook his head. "I don't – I can't –I was drunk, okay? I don't—"

"You don't know?" Marcy lifted her fist and nearly put it through his boy-band pin-up features. "You fuck around with him like that and then don't even remember it after? Must be a nice goddamn way to avoid feeling guilty. He's got a freaking _bite_ mark on his neck, like you're some blood-sucking vampire goth wannabe. And, yeah, I asked what the hell _else_ you might have done. He says he doesn't know."

"_He_ doesn't know?"

Marcy swatted his shoulder again. It felt good to punctuate her anger with physical blows. "The pair of you, fucking amnesiacs. He's at least not going to tell _me_ about it. Oh, it was a mistake – bullshit. I don't buy for a second that you thought he was Treize at the time, and even if you did – fuck you for being that dumb. It's _his_ body."

"I never – I wouldn't—" Pretty boy looked ready to puke, right there in the parking lot. "Did he say he can't remember?"

"Something like that."

"He blacked it out – he must have blacked it…" Zechs swallowed again. "So if not him – Did you talk to Treize?"

"What's that matter?"

"Did you?"

"No," said Marcy. She crammed both hands into the pocket of her hoodie and worked up a frenzy of gum-chewing. "Haven't seen him around. Just Wufei and Miss Pigtails."

"She wouldn't know. She wouldn't, or I'd be—" Zechs muttered to himself for a moment. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a miserable sort of sigh. Marcy refused to feel sorry for him, no matter how whipped and beaten the puppy-dog eyes got. "What was in his file?"

"Fuck you. If you don't know, I sure as hell won't say. Some really fucked up shit, for sure. As in, you should go throw yourself in front of traffic for ever fucking around with him like you have. Swear to sacred fuck – I can't believe I thought you were cool. Look, seriously. You show your face around the house again and I – I don't know. I'll rat you out to the staff, or grab a pair of scissors or, better yet, a fucking butcher knife. You want to know what's in his file? A mom who slapped him around, a stepdad who treated him like a whore, and a state-certified medallion of lunacy that means he'll never get free of the system, so good on you for being such a kind and caring _friend_ as you have been. Truly, heart-warming. High-fives all around."

Zechs had the decency looked ashamed. She'd grant him that. Maybe a little too late, but whatever. He shucked his shoulders into a miserable shrug and said, "Sure." Like it was the end of the fucking world, but Marcy couldn't care less if she'd gone over the line. "All right. I didn't – fine. I don't care anymore."

He lied worse than a three-year-old sneaking cookies, and Marcy glared without saying a word to contrary.

"Just – give these to Wufei, okay?" Zechs shuffled a hand into his pocket and drew forth a gleaming pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "That's all I came for. Maybe say – to Treize." He drew in a long, slow breath to fight back the shakiness of his voice. "Doesn't matter. Just, whatever. Forget about it."

Marcy snatched the glasses out of his hand. "Yeah. Of all the things for him to forget, you better be top of the fucking list. And to think he wanted to date you! There's no accounting for taste."

She whirled away before the slashed-open shock on his face could sink in and make her regret speaking so harshly. So what if Treize was moon-over-stars enamored with the bastard? She'd seen the file, and she'd her own dumbass mom slap concealer over yet another raccoon-eyed bruise, and she'd heard the bewildered denial in Wufei's voice as he sought to defend some no-good punk roughing him up. _He didn't mean to, it was a mistake_ – fuck that shit. Marcy wasn't about to let him relive all the shitty nightmares written down in the clinical legal language of his file. She liked Treize, he was fun, and Wufei wasn't so bad now that she'd given him a chance.

She got all the way across the lot and to the street without looking back. And then Marcy did look back, as she waited for the light to change, but there was no sign of him amid the myriad of shining vehicles. None of the students still streaming out from the building had such a long sheet of white-blond hair, and even his stupid prep-kid sweater didn't stick out near as much as she thought. So maybe she'd said too much, or maybe too little, but what-the-fuck-ever. The signal flipped to a green walking stickman, and she hustled across the impatient line of cars.

The glasses ended up stuffed into the rest of her junk in the pocket of her hoodie. Yeah, she could hand them over to Wufei and give his squinty focus a break, but that'd be good as screaming the fact she'd run into Zechs. In either case, she found Deb and Wufei sitting at the dining room table together already getting started on homework. He looked up when she breezed into the room and smiled, a tight-lipped acknowledgement that was still nicer than her shitty ass roommate's glare.

"Get lost," she told Deb.

The girl huffed up in a silent fuss, ready to fight her on it, and Wufei slipped peacemaking terms into the readied affront. "This isn't important," he told Marcy. He flipped the textbook closed. "I have until Thursday to turn it in."

"What is it?"

"Geometry."

"Boring," she said.

Wufei shrugged. He rose up from the table and glanced briefly at the wall clock. "Did you have a show in mind? Delaney's not home yet. I don't think anyone's claimed the television."

"Whatever," Marcy said. "Do your homework."

Wufei frowned, and she regretted the harsh tone. Bleed over anger from the dumb tall lug of a blond bully sent all her responses into razor-sharp snarls. "All right," said Wufei, in a heavily cautious way. He rolled the thick book back open and drew the sheet of graph paper close once more.

Marcy slumped into one of the unoccupied chairs. Deb shot her a tense look, all bitched-out snobbery and resentment, and Marcy crushed the immature urge to stick out her tongue. She watched the two of them scribble solutions with matching concentrations and felt around at the sleek line of Wufei's glasses buried in with all her assorted nonsense. He didn't seem to be having a hard time of it reading the textbook and working through the math problems, so at least his grades wouldn't suffer for her reluctance.

Wufei kept glancing up at the clock as the hands crept closer and closer to four and twelve. Maybe he had a television show he liked to watched at that time. Marcy couldn't remember what kind of programming came on right after school, other than children's cartoons, and Wufei didn't strike her as that type. She usually checked in with the staff on duty and then hung around outside, or took a long stroll out to the park and back to work up her pocket money. Sitting at the dining room table and doing school shit like responsible assholes – that totally wasn't her usual style.

Out in the hall, the phone rang. Wufei bolted to his feet as if struck by lightning, and then changed. Just like that. Pigtails, right up with the snap of hair ties pulled from his pockets, and by the second trilling note from the phone it was Meiran glaring down the hall at the disruption.

"Let me, by all means," muttered Marcy. She hauled up to her feet and bounced into the hall to grab the phone. Mike – the current staff drone on duty – wandered out from the living room to meet her halfway. "I got it," she told him. And then into the phone: "Hello?"

"Hello, hello!" enthused the voice on the other end of the line. "May I please speak to one Wufei Chang, if you do not mind."

"Nope," said Marcy slowly. Yeah, all right, she'd give pretty boy some serious points if he managed to disguise his voice that cheerily. "He's not here."

"Oh, dear. All right. Meiran or Treize or – Oh, hey! Well, that might be all right. I guess. Let's see. Marcy, right? Yeah. That sounds like right sort of name. Can I talk to Marcy, then?"

"Who the fuck is this?" And she heard Mike's voice drifting out from the living room, so she covered up the mouthpiece on the phone and hollered, "Sor-ry!"

"This is the illustrious and amazing Duo Maxwell."

"Well. This is Marcy, then."

"Oh. Hey! Yeah. We met the other day, remember? I was the good-looking guy in the dashing braid—"

"Yeah. I remember you. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he said, in the exceedingly casual way that meant the opposite. "So I was thinking, and no offense meant or anything, but you're a regular little pharmacist of illicit dealing, right? I mean, that's what all that was with the hey and the what and the rattlers, right?"

Marcy had understood maybe one word in three of the high-powered rambling. He sounded like a sugared up tweaker, and it was kind of hilarious. "What?"

"Pill-popping! You're a somewhat dubious expert in that kind of nonsensical chemical abuse, right?"

"Oh. Sure. What're you looking to get?"

"Nothing. It's what I've got that's the problem. You think you're skills are notch enough that if I weave to wonder the description of a couple acquisitions you can pinpoint the purpose?"

Marcy did laugh that time. She couldn't help it; the garbled-up responses struck her as amusing even if she couldn't understand them. "What?"

"Mystery drugs! I want to know what I've got. Do you think you can I.D. them?"

"I can try," she said.

"Okay. Cool. Yeah, all right. So I sorted them out into neat little rows, and I think I've got three varieties. Left to right! Or right to left? Oh, snap, most to least! Okay, so, door number one – white bars. Flat tablets, rectangular. Scored like you can break 'em down into tiny squares. Survey says…?"

"Uh." Marcy considered it. "I don't know. That sounds kind of generic."

"Moving on, then! I bet this next one will be easier. We got red, we got round, we got tiny flat round red pills and, get this, super eensy weensy 'V's in the center of them. V for victory, right?"

"Nah. Valium," she said. "Sounds like Valium for sure."

"Success! Hey, great," he said. "One down. I'm not sure that really does me any good, but that's okay. You're great. Wonderful. Fantastic. I love your hair. Okay, moving on! Last but not least. Well, no, that's a lie – it is least, I got only eight of them. So we have round and flat again with a letter, only these are blue – like, super pretty blue, like Cutie-Q's eyes blue. Oh, and we got 'K' for the center, and hopefully not, like, K is for killer or something weird."

"Hey, that other – white tablets, you said?"

"Yup. The super generic lame one? And I wish you could figure it out, 'cause I've got seventeen on them, so if it's useful that's all kinds of super awesome."

"Valium, Klonopin – bet you anything that's Xanax. Where'd you get them?" Marcy considered the variety pack she'd bought off Zechs the other week and nearly laughed again.

"Long story. Short version's even longer. I only managed it the once and that's because everyone was in the know with the backstory-slash-details. Why? What's it matter? Hey, what's the K stand for? Clownpiss?"

"Klonopin. Have fun with that. No one wants them, either. I'm sitting on a small fortune, so if you're that fond of them let me know."

"Well I don't know what they do, I just figured getting acquainted first might help the whole, come on in and fuck me brain plan. Lay me down softly and seduce the crazy, my little dollops of crazy, varoom! What? Right, so, V is for Vacuum, K is for Killer, and the white ones no one loves. So sad. So sad. Hey! Sounds great. Better than I knew before. No, seriously, I won't forget. Wrote it down so my cheesecloth brain can ooze right through."

Wufei appeared in the hallway, hair down and loose. By the nearsighted focus of his frown, he was looking for her. Marcy beckoned him over and smothered a hand over the telephone. "You have got to hear this," she hissed in a whisper.

"What do—" Wufei took the phone from her with a clear look of surprise. "Yes, hello? Wufei speaking."

Whatever flurry of response he received – it produced a startling effect on Wufei. He lit up into a sudden smile of the sort normally reserved for Hallmark commercials and cheesy teen pop videos. It lasted only a moment before crashing into a frown, but even that twist of his brow held fondness still, like watching a beloved cat scratch on an unloved chair. He glanced at Marcy briefly and then turned aside in an attempt to hide the play of emotion from her.

"Maxwell," he said, just a stern as ever. "Maxwell, you must slow down if you wish for me to understand you at all. Yes. Well, that's all right. I understand. Yes, it is good to talk to you as well. I find it suspicious that you profess to miss me quite so direly – I saw you two days ago."

Wufei twisted another wary look at her and edged further around the little hall table whose sole point of existence was to hold the phone. And a doily, for whatever dumb reason someone thought the table needed a doily. Marcy refused to take the hint and quit eavesdropping. By the sound of it, Duo hadn't been lying when he bragged about being Wufei's friend. Bit strange he'd never called before, or at least not that she knew, but telephone operator appeared nowhere on her list of chores, so, fuck it.

"Maxwell, slow down. One thing at a time," he said. "Yes. Mhm. What? Oh. Yes, I suppose. That would be nice. Not tonight, though. I have homework. Yes, real school. Yes, I do hate it," he said with a slight laugh. The greeting card smile returned.

Mike swung in from the living room. "Share the line, Marcy."

She turned, hands up to show her innocence in the matter. Mike rolled his hand in a super-obnoxious gesture of hurry, and Wufei bobbed his head in eager, goody two-shoes agreement.

"Maxwell? I must go now. Mnn, probably not again tonight. Tomorrow? That's fine. Oh. No – not at the same time. I, uh—" A brief look of pain flashed over his features, come and gone like birds in flight. When he spoke again it came out defeated, breathless in the defective-balloon kind of way. "No. Never mind. At four is fine. I'm home from school by then. Yes. Goodbye. Ah, Maxwell? Take care."

He hung up and then stood there, shoulders hunched over the little table and its stupid doily. Marcy abruptly regretting sticking around to be nosy, as it'd very quickly stopped being funny. "Hey," she said. "You okay?"

Wufei straightened into a square-shouldered pillar of stubbornness. "Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be? Excuse me." He brushed past her and all but ran up the stairs, the quick thud-thud-thud of his steps speaking the lie behind his quick denial.

The thin wire frames in her pocket seemed heavy all of a sudden. Marcy stood in the hall and worked her gum for a bit, thinking through her options. Kid was going to run into another pole if she kept up the deceit, but she was equally loathed to scratch fresh wounds. Maybe she'd wait for Treize or Meiran again. Maybe she could hide them somewhere obvious in his room, and then play the, _Oh, wow, look what I found_ game. _Must have been here the whole time_.

She heard Delaney come in the front door. He was late for the after school check-in as usual, and Mike started up a half-hearted chastisement. Marcy wandered out to watch, as it promised to be mildly more interesting than standing in the hall with her own thoughts. Delaney rolled his eyes and grumbled a lot of false apology, and then was back out under the guise of meeting some friends to study at the library. Like anyone was going to believe that, but rules were rules and nothing in his file said he couldn't spend free time outside the house.

Marcy checked out herself and went for a long walk to the park and back. She swapped some of the load in her front pocket for spending money with the effort. The housewife with twin toddlers guiltily pressed a wad of cash at her for the weekly allowance of Mommy's little helpers, and Marcy gleefully pawned three of Delaney's kiddie cokes to some ultra-studious college freshman. She ought to get Deb hooked on the stuff, but then Delaney might stop being so lazy and cut her out at the independent business woman middle man. Middle woman, she meant.

Once she'd gotten bored enough with all that, Marcy wandered back to the house. A quick pass through of the first floor revealed Deb still at the dining room table and Wufei's school books right where he'd left them – and no sign of Wufei. She trekked up the stairs in pursuit. Hopefully another blanket-fort didn't await her curiosity. It was hard enough to get him out of that mess the first time.

Instead she found Wufei standing at the bathroom mirror and pitched forward over the sink to study his reflection. A brilliant streak of red fell against the side of his face. Unaware of Marcy's presence, he gently combed his fingers through the glossy strands and tucked them slightly behind one ear. The gesture exposed both the mottled bruising across his cheek and the pensive curve of his face. There was an anxious, unsteady quality to his features that suggested either a prelude or conclusion to waterworks.

"Hey," said Marcy. Only seemed fair to warn him.

Wufei startled and flinched a hand into his hair. "Hello," he said stiffly. After a moment's struggle he pulled the clip out and the red slid free of all the black.

"You know. You should dye it that way," she said. "It'd look good."

"I don't think so." Wufei pressed the long hair extension against his chest for a moment before snatching it behind his back.

"No, yeah – Totally would." She jumped on a sudden idea. "Let's grab some color and beauty party it up. I need to fix my ghetto dye job anyway. "

"No." Wufei frowned, which was better than the weepy look he'd been giving the mirror.

"Yup. Won't take no for an answer, either. Come on." She grabbed his arm and pulled him unresisting into the hall. "I promise you'll like it and, if you don't, we can just dye it black again."

"This seems like a very unwise decision," said Wufei. "Wait, I'll need my jacket."

Marcy released his arm but followed him into his and Delaney's room. Wufei snagged his ratty old grey zip-up out of the closet and shrugged into it. "That looks terrible with my turtleneck," Marcy said. She elbowed him out of the way and surveyed the contents of his closet. "Your clothes suck."

"Well," said Wufei. "I suppose. I'm not changing, though. There's no point."

"Oh, whatever. I'm so taking you shopping this weekend."

"That's unnecessary. What I have is sufficient."

"What you have is lame." She ruffled through his drab, stodgy assortment. "Is this a Dukakis campaign shirt? You'd have to go full ironic hipster to ever pull that off. Where did you get this stuff anyway?"

"Oh." Wufei shrugged. "Child services, I guess. Donations, mostly. I have some nicer things that Noin bought me for court days somewhere in there."

She stared at him for a moment, thrown by the exceedingly casual explanation. "Okay," Marcy said. "I'm declaring my new full-time hobby is your total makeover. Head to toe, starting with the hair. Let's go."

"That's entirely excessive," said Wufei. He kept close to her heels on the way downstairs. "There's no need for this."

"Well, duh. Shit you need to do isn't nearly as fun as the stuff you want to do." Marcy hit the hallway first and shouted in a sing-song voice, "Going out! Taking Wufei with me!"

Courtney popped her head in from the opposite end of the house. "Dinner's ready in five," she said. That was an optimistic estimate, given how her every attempt at following the staff meal plan ended with a round of complaints and a hasty deliver order. "Wufei, come clear your books off the table."

Marcy waited impatiently for Wufei to collect his things. He started to stand around, like dinner really would be ready as promised. She snagged his jacket sleeve. "Come on. We can eat when we get back. I want to make it to the store before they close."

"Will we have time?" Wufei lifted his wrist way up near his face to look at the watch face.

"Sure. If we hurry."

Marcy hustled him outside and right through the house backyard and then the neighbor's as well. Wufei skirted the edge of the property, probably squeamish about trespassing, but she dragged him along when he hesitated. "It's faster this way. We can cut straight through to the drugstore and be back before Courtney finishes ordering pizza."

"All right," said Wufei. He tripped over a sudden lump of raised flowerbed, and Marcy caught him out of a near fall. "Thanks."

The smile he gave her was more a grimacing acknowledgement of his own inept ability to walk a straight line. There was no greeting card shine to it, which prompted her to ask, "How long have you known that Duo guy?"

"Maxwell?" It was hard to be sure in the dwindling sunset, but Wufei seemed to flush with awkwardness that came through in his voice as well. "About a year, I guess. Why?"

"Nothing. Just you seemed chummy."

"Oh. Yes." Now Wufei was definitely blushing, no two ways about it. "He's a friend."

"Yeah?" Marcy waited until the ground leveled out before springing on him, "Like how Zechs is a friend?" _Or was a friend_, she amended silently.

Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Rather than continue blushing, or trip comically, or even wobble together a frown, Wufei fell quiet and still. He kept walking, sure, but a definite wall went up between them. After a long moment he said tersely, "I don't think that is any of your business."

"Ouch," said Marcy. "Hint taken. Some gratitude you're showing me for the assist, jerk." She slugged his shoulder with a slight bit of playful force. "Hair dye isn't cheap."

"I didn't ask you to dye my hair."

"Well, yeah, and you didn't ask me to be your friend, either, so suck it." Marcy slipped into the narrow crack between two privacy fences and motioned Wufei after her. "I'm just saying, you seem to like the dude. That's all."

He came to a halt wedged between the two wooden panels. "Rabinowitz," he said, and Marcy knew she'd gone too far. Something seemed to hang in the balance between them, and she wisely kept her trap shut to see which way the sudden shift would tumble. With all the fading light and weird shadows, she couldn't see his face beyond a pale outline framed by the twin black lines of his brows.

Abruptly Wufei spoke, so much softer and more serious than Marcy expected. "Maxwell is loud and obnoxious. He is reckless and stupid. He is a born troublemaker. He never listens to authority, he's barely capable of rational thought, and he's constantly endangering himself and everyone around him. But—" His chest rose and fell with a sharpness that let Marcy know which way the balance had ended up falling. "He's loyal, and a genuinely tries to be a good person, and means well. _Yes_. I like Maxwell. I can't help it. He only sees me as a friend, but I—"

"Hey." Marcy squeezed through the tight confines to find him. "Okay. Geez. I didn't mean to – Pretty dumb of me to be asking, right? Look, none of my business, but, have you ever thought about, you know, telling him that?"

"No," snapped Wufei. He'd recovered quickly from the verge of some heartbroken disaster. "That's impossible. He's got this horrible, deranged infatuation with a complete sociopath. It's completely unhealthy."

"Yeah," said Marcy slowly. She took up his hand and pulled him forward through the fences. "Speaking of that – What did you ever like about Zechs, then?"

"Ah," said Wufei. He didn't have a follow up statement, at least not for a while. They crossed out of the tangled knot of subdivision houses and up the corner to the drug store. Marcy made quick work of grabbing the boxes of dye she needed. Normally she'd just stuff them up under her hoodie, but Wufei gallantly offered to carry some up to the counter where she instead parted ways with some of her easy-earned cash. In retaliation, when neither Wufei nor the cashier were looking, she palmed a pack of gum.

They were almost back to the house when Wufei answered her. "I know this sounds strange to say in light of… events, but – Peacecraft is very kind."

"Yeah?" Marcy wadded her gum against her molars in a vicious snap of restrained sarcasm.

"It's true. He is. Or, I don't know. He's considerate. Thoughtful. That's Maxwell's problem – he never thinks anything through. He's so careless, with both words and actions. But Peacecraft, he isn't like that. He's so observant – the way he looks at me. I can't describe it. I feel, or, I suppose – I _felt_ like I could trust him."

"And now?" Marcy prompted.

Wufei shrugged, and there few things so miserable that she'd seen in a while as the dejected slump of his shoulders. "Now I don't know what to think." It was a very small kind of way of speaking.

Marcy caught his arm on the corner. They stood beneath a streetlight, full dark having fallen during their brief time inside the store. He looked up at her with big, wounded dark eyes and a bristled-up aura of being too tough to breakdown again just because the conversation had gotten difficult. The bag full of boxes of hair dye tugged at her arm, and the plastic crinkled as she rustled a hand into the big front pocket. The oval lenses gleamed in the bare yellow light as Marcy presented Wufei with his glasses.

"Oh," Wufei breathed. He reached for them like petting a coiled snake. "Did… he say anything?"

"He didn't say he was sorry," Marcy told him. And she was sorry for having to do it.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I feel like there should be more fanfare for my hundredth chapter, but oh well. At least I was able to be quick! I'm always pleased with a steady turn-around time on updates. Uh. Hope I don't jinx myself, talking like that! Oh! But, I should mention - there's a chance I'm going to get by a hurricane this weekend, so if I lose power that'll likely delay the update. Also the whole, you know. Hurricane. But it's Hurricane Sandy, so I'll just get Quatre to cuddle it for me. Crisis averted!

Thank you, everyone, for reading! Until next time (hopefully soon)

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	101. Kindle

LSC / 10-28-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred One: Kindle)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 101

**Kindle**

* * *

It was one of those warm and fuzzy dreams Duo rarely got to experience. When up and up and up some more, every waking moment held an intense, surrealistic perspective almost like a dream. And there were a lot of waking moments thanks to his beleaguering insomnia. Down in the well was the opposite. He slept and slept in dark, dreamless oblivion. Dreams didn't survive in the cold water at the bottom of the well. When stretched flat, sure, sometimes he dreamed. Not like this, though. Never so blissfully carefree.

He was dreaming utterly forgettable wonderment, and it vanished up like smoke when Duo wavered toward boring old consciousness. Everything came in pieces. First the lingering happy warmth from his dream made real in the form of a burrito roll-up of blankets. Second came a sharp, acrid smell that was distinctly something of char and ash. Third, and this was perhaps more distressing than the burning aroma, someone was shaking his shoulders. Rather violently, too, jarring big firework flashes of red and black over his vision.

"Duo. Duo, wake up. Duo!" The frantic sound of Heero's voice came last, the final click of drowsy sensation before Duo opened his eyes and came fully awake. Lines of tension slashed open Heero's face and bled bewildering fear into the long, gaping moment in which Duo stared incomprehensibly up at him.

Duo cobbled some inelegant sound together. "Wha…?"

Heero's grip on his shoulders tightened. He forgot to be gentle as he hauled Duo's passive weight upright. "Are you all right?"

"Sure," said Duo. He stretched against the blankets and Heero alike to gain a little personal space. Now that he was awake, however reluctantly, the possible deadly inferno was actually way more important, because he could think of few other reasons for Heero to have rudely woke him up like this. "Wha's wrong? Wha's happen? Wha's on fire?"

Heero edged off from high alert and quit the circulation-breaking bruiser hold on his arms. So the whole apartment likely hadn't burst into flames. "You left the oven on," he said.

"Did you turn it off?"

"Yes."

"Good." Duo couldn't remember turning the oven on in the first – ooh, wait, _yeah_, there it was. He'd been hungry. There'd been leftovers. He'd violated several post-it note rules. "Oh. Sorry."

Heero kept staring at him. "The smoke detector was going off."

And he'd slept right through it. Well, that explained the laser beam eyes. Heero must have come in the front door to smoke roiling through the kitchen, a screeching fire alarm, and then Duo passed out dead in the bedroom. Duo, who was supposed to be in a geared up not-sleeping phase of existence. Oops.

"Yeah. Sorry?"

Heero frowned and felt carefully at Duo's forehead and cheeks. His hands had the slightly grubby feel of motor oil, but they were warm and gentle against his skin. Duo tipped into the touch with a small, contented sigh.

"Are you all right?" Heero asked again.

"Hm? Sure. Why not?" Duo fought a hand up from the blankets to stifle a yawn.

Heero hesitated and braced like he was getting ready to walk across a minefield. Which, given Duo's track record, wasn't too far from the truth. Well, that was possibly unfair to either one or both of them. Before Duo could prompt him on elaborating the whole overly concerned vibe, Heero said slowly, "You wouldn't wake up."

"Oh. Well." Duo shrugged. "Nice dream. Sorry."

The intensity of Heero's gaze still did not lighten, nor did the squiggle-line difficulty of his brow. At last he rose up from the bed and began to extricate himself from his work uniform. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Nah," said Duo. "Not really." He'd been hungry, but that seemed to have passed. It wasn't worth hassling Heero into making him dinner, in either case.

Duo watched with interest as Heero stripped down for the shower. Never one to be shy, Heero tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper before disappeared into the bathroom. Duo sat for a moment longer on the bed before struggling free of the blankets. There had to be a cold snap outside for him to be this snuggle-hungry, as the apartment air felt atrociously cool. He'd ask Heero about lifting the heat a couple notches, once he got out of the shower.

For now, though, it was simply much too cold. Duo hugged his arms around himself and, when that failed to yield a satisfactory brush of heat, dragged the entire top blanket off the bed. He wrapped it over his shoulders and neck and wandered out into the living room. An amusing stream of debris cluttered the normally tidy arrangement of the apartment and revealed Heero's path of partial destruction on the way to slap quiet the smoke alarm. His keys lay crumpled beneath the bowl he kept by the door, rather than actually in the bowl, and more curious than that was the abandoned stack of books on the kitchen counter.

Duo hitched the blanket higher up around his face and drifted over to look. He tipped his head sideways to read the titles off the spines. "Oh," he said aloud. Yes, he remembered getting impatient and fidgety waiting for Heero to come from work before thinking to actually check the calendar. _Library_, he'd written down for himself, and apparently that meant checking out nearly a dozen books on abnormal psychology. Specifically Duo's brand of misfiring synaptic nerves, which had titles ranging from the stuffy and clinical _Psychological Approaches Manic-Depressive Disorder_ all the way over to a particularly neon-hued _I'm Not Crazy! The Teen's Guide to Being Bipolar_. Duo pulled that one out from the stack and tossed it open to a random page. It was nearly as cheesy as he expected. He ruffled the pages looking for a cartoon dog to pop up and start spouting off reassurances.

Duo shuffled the stack of books around until he found a more straight-forward looking selection on general psychiatric disorders. He carried it over to the sofa and fell across the cushions. Rather than explore his own diagnosis, which was likely and obviously Heero's intended purpose with the impromptu study collection, Duo instead began looking up everyone else's. He found depression easy enough, right there in the middle, and ran Trowa through the symptom checklist. Wufei's nasty pile of crazy proved actually interesting reading, from what little he could focus together, but eventually the words began to blur into gibberish. When he caught himself re-reading the same sentence for the fifth time without comprehending it, Duo dumped the rest of the book over to the appendix in the back.

That's when Heero came out from the shower, fresh-scrubbed clean and dressed down into boxers and an undershirt. Duo felt colder just looking at him. Heero snapped a quick look at the book in Duo's hands and then over to the others abandoned in the kitchen. The oh-shit landmine-dodging look was back along with the hesitation as he said, "I went to the library."

"Yeah. I noticed." Duo held up the book he'd been attempting to read for a moment, to show Heero the cover, before returning his lackluster attention to the garbled lines of tiny print.

Heero came over and then just stood there looming awkwardly over the couch. "Are you mad?"

"What? No." Duo found the entry he'd been searching for and started turning back through the pages. He forgot which page he needed and had to flip back and forth for a moment. When Heero nudged at him, Duo shifted obligingly and ended up with his head and shoulders laid across Heero's lap.

Heero smoothed aside his bangs and pressed again at Duo's forehead. "Are you all right?"

"Sure." Duo lifted the book up closer to his face, like extreme close-up vision would help him slog together the functioning brain cells necessary for reading. "Why do you keep asking?"

"You seem." Heero made one of those neat little pauses he was so impossibly good at, and normally Duo might throw any number of inappropriate or needling suggestions into the gap. The silence stretched longer when he failed to take the bait, and that set Heero into a deeper frown. "You seem unwell."

"Oh?" Duo dropped the book to his chest and craned a curious look up at Heero. "Am I running a fever?" It would explain why Heero kept feeling at his forehead, at least. Except Heero shook his head. Well, that was all right – Duo would join him on the worry parade if that was the case, since he just felt chilly and lethargic and still kind of numb and floaty like in his dream.

"Are you," said Heero. And then he paused again, so picture perfect that Duo wanted to frame it up on the wall. His fingers stroked tenderly at Duo's cheek. "Are you cycling again?"

"What? Oh. Ohhh," Duo said again. Drawled it real long, too, lifting and lowering the syllables into a groaning realization. "Don't worry, 'ro. I'm not sad. Just took your advice, is all."

"What advice?"

"From this morning." Duo sighed and turned his face into a nuzzle against Heero's midsection. The undershirt felt wonderfully soft against him. "Got rid of the jitters. Thought you'd be happy."

"I don't understand," said Heero. He curled a pleading caress around Duo's ear.

"The brain candy. Recently M.I.A. and now property of yours truly. Guess I'm not use to the dosage or something. Sorry if I space out."

"Oh," said Heero. "Is it safe?"

"What?"

"Is it the right type of medication for you?"

"Oh. I dunno. Guess it worked. Here," Duo said. He lifted the book from his chest and was careful to keep it open to the right page as he offered it up to Heero. "Read this for me. Clown – Klonowhatever. Clone-spam."

Heero obligingly held the book out to the side and skimmed over the selected page. "Clonazepam?"

"Yeah." Duo closed his eyes and nestled further against Heero by curling on to his side. After a stretch of silence he said, "Heero? I meant read it aloud."

"Oh. All right." He began to do so, and Duo let his attention drift. It wasn't Heero's fault for reading in such a flat monotone, or the book's for being so dry and technical. Although he'd truthfully denied having tumbled into the well again, Duo couldn't deny feeling a similar sort of lethargic apathy. Only rather than being cold and vaguely frightening, it was warm and pleasant. Well, metaphorically. Physically he felt cold. Bit warmer now that he had Heero to huddle against and leech body heat.

"Mania," said Duo. He completely interrupted Heero in midsentence. "Book says it can treat mania. I'm a genius. Did have a one in three shot though. Don't ruin this for me, Yuy."

Heero made some noise of agreement. Duo took the book back from him and then let it drop to the floor. Lightly, as abusing library books likely ran contrary to Heero's prickly nature, and the absolute last thing he wanted to do was start some silly, senseless fight. "Mmn—" Duo was going to start purring with happiness if Heero kept playing at his hair like that, working free the snagged-up braid with exquisite care. A slow flush started somewhere around his neck and spread pleasantly in either direction.

Duo twisted within the wrap of blanket and found the waistband of Heero's boxers. He'd started to slip his hands beneath the elastic when Heero shied away, gently but irrevocably rejecting Duo with a brushing gesture. Duo tipped what he intended to be a seductive look at Heero and pulled himself upright for a kiss. Heero turned his face away, so that Duo's lips fell on his cheek instead. The look he returned was equal parts stern and beseeching, and Duo wondered if he'd missed a couple minutes worth of events to have arrived at such a juncture.

"What?" he said.

Trapped by a direct question he either couldn't answer or didn't want to, Heero retreated into the corner of the couch without actually moving.

Duo pulled his legs up under himself and sat back to give Heero some space. "What?"

Still Heero did not answer.

"Are _you_ all right?" Duo demanded.

"Yes," said Heero.

It had been the wrong wording to the question for him to be that quick on the response. Duo struggled to rephrase himself, and might have kept at it until he forgot entirely what he was doing, but the phone rang with an abrupt, rude interjection. Heero jumped at the chance to do something other than explain himself. Bizarre insecurity made Duo flipped the hem of the blanket over his head like a hood. He tucked his chin against his drawn-up knees and watched Heero verbally assault the unlucky caller.

"Hello. Yes." Heero shot lasers across the apartment. "It's for you."

The last thing Duo wanted to go was get up and drag his stupid self all the way over the telephone, but since there were only about three, maybe four, people in the entire world who might be calling him, he did it. The blanket whipped around his feet like a wizard's cloak as he walked, and Duo got distracted momentarily by the fluttering effect.

He did, fortunately, remember to take the phone from Heero and speak into it. "Hello?"

"Hello," came a low, smooth voice on the other end. "Duo?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Hello."

Well, yup, they'd established that fact. Duo gave Heero a questioning look, suddenly flummoxed by the possibility this was all some elaborate hoax. The tranquilizers, the rejection, the phone call – all culminating in, what? Men with straightjackets? A padded cell? Okay. So it was a really elaborated and really dumb thing to be thinking, and Duo suddenly figured out the mystery behind the all too-quiet phone call.

"Trowa?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Hi. Right. How's everything?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"I guess," said Trowa. "You wanted me to call."

"So I did," said Duo. He more or less remembered the entirely of what verbal garbage he'd thrown at Trowa earlier that day. Maybe one word in ten of his conversation with Quatre even earlier stuck. He considered the surreal, too-intense, almost violent upswing that morning and felt pleased with the current mellow compromise.

"Are you all right?" asked Trowa.

Normally such repeated concern battering at him from all sides might set Duo into a stubborn fit of anger, but now it merely gave him pause. Maybe the stuff he'd taken wasn't such a great idea if it meant everyone thought he'd gotten a loose screw or something. Then again, Trowa and Heero had both been subjected to his chattering inanity. If that's what they were expecting them, sure, he could see the reasoning behind it. No one wanted him down in the well. That was certainly nice of them.

"Duo?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you were okay."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

Trowa spoke again, in the distant and muffled way that meant he'd covered up the phone. Whatever he was saying, it sounded courteous. Trowa's voice went all gallant and tender, and Duo wasn't the least bit surprised when the phone got passed off to Quatre, who spoke almost whisper soft in comparison. "Duo?"

"Hiya."

"Hi," he said back, in that adorable and shy way of his.

"How's your head?" asked Duo.

"Oh," breathed Quatre. "Um, better." It sounded like a lie, delivered very sincerely and sweetly so as not to install worry.

"Glad to hear."

"Um. I just wanted to say hi. Here's Trowa. Oh. Goodbye," he added.

Duo echoed goodbye back to him. He waited for the exchange, which was punctuated by Trowa's out-of-hearing-range murmuring, before saying, "Thanks for the call, Tro."

"Certainly," said Trowa. "I wanted to ask you – just a moment."

"'Kay." Duo realized he was standing solo next to the fridge. Since he would have thought Heero incapable of considering his presence eavesdropping, Duo registered a note of surprise at his absence. He scanned the open floor plan despite the obvious. It wasn't like Heero had any furniture to hide behind either.

"Okay," said Trowa. He spoke quietly, in the hushed tone of a secret admittance. "Quatre couldn't keep his dinner down. Is that bad?"

"Well, it's not good," said Duo. And then immediately regretted it. Not even that he needed to hear Trowa's huffed sigh of frustration, nope. Remorse for such a careless, flippant answer came almost simultaneously with the words actually forming on his lips. "Uh. Sorry," he said.

"When Heero hit his head – Do you think he _needed_ to go to the hospital? Should I take Quatre to a doctor?"

The tightly wound anxiety in Trowa's brand new voice sent a fluttering echo up through Duo. It struck somewhere beneath the fog and entire cold/warm dichotomy and shaped into well-intended conviction. "Q-ball's fine. Had a rough day is all. He'll shake it off soon."

The long rush of Trowa's breath over the phone sounded like all the weight in the world releasing. "You think?"

Duo never knew that underneath all his stoic silence Trowa possessed such a squishy heart. Across the apartment, Heero appeared again from the bedroom and locked an impressively concentrated gaze on him. Laser beams, definitely. "Yeah," he told Trowa. "Really do. Just keep an eye on him."

"All right," said Trowa. "Thanks. I better go."

"Sure. Bye." Duo set the phone down just as Heero reached him. Shock snapped out from the feel of Heero's hands on him. There was an urgency to the way Heero literally swept him off his feet. And, as thrilling as being carried Cinderella-style to the bedroom sounded, Duo worried again that he'd missed some intervening occurrence to explain the suddenness of the curiously romantic gesture. He fussed at Heero's hold, but the stupid blanket tangled his struggles down to a weak kind of flopping.

"Hey," he said. "Hey, seriously."

The determined set of Heero's features struck him as particularly amusing, if not for the strangeness of his actions. He shouldered through the door but remembered to show gentlemanly consideration to avoid Duo's head making contact with the doorway. Duo thrashed with a bit more insistence until Heero was left with the choice of setting him down nicely or letting Duo swan-dive recklessly into the floor.

Duo dropped to his feet and flailed away Heero's hands like a cat batting string. "What're you doing, Heero?"

Heero scowled at the floor. In a rare burst of awkwardness, he mumbled the answer to Duo's question. Of course he wouldn't just not answer or flash some frivolous denial, but the muttered incoherency was just as good as that, and it surprised Duo.

"Heero? What're you thinking?"

"It doesn't matter," said Heero. From anyone else it would have been a pretty nicety, some flippant disregarded statement to end the conversation before it begun. Heero, though, he genuinely meant that as the answer to Duo's question, and that fact alone gave him pause. Thinking through Heero's cryptic inability to convey his emotions was difficult under the best of circumstances.

Duo curled his hand into the blanket and drew it tightly closed under his neck. "Heero. I'm too tired for this. Stop being weird."

"You're being weird," said Heero. It was the precise moment Duo realized he was probably still dreaming. Possibly some fatal smoke-inhalation hallucination-driven slumber had overtaken all his thoughts, and this was the reason Heero said such an absurd thing. Duo couldn't even tell if meant it or was being … silly. And "being silly" and "Heero" did not belong in the same sentence, outside of skewed-perspective nightmare-land. Duo pinched himself, and it hurt, so that option popped like a soap bubble, all iridescent and shiny.

"But that's okay," Heero was quick to add. A brief line of consternation crossed over the faint glaring scowl, like he expected Duo to become upset at the potential insult.

"Start over," said Duo. "Explain it another way. Why are you acting like this?"

"I don't." Heero paused. "You seemed unwell. Not your—"

"Not myself?" guessed Duo, when it became painfully clear Heero was not going to continue. Heero nodded, winced up like he expected a blow. A calming lull followed during which Duo refrained from hissing up like a cat dropped in water, as would be his usual first instinct to the insinuation his behavior lay outside even his own considerably wide spectrum of normal.

"But," Heero rushed to say. "That doesn't matter. I just." Another broken record skip of speaking, before Heero barreled right into one of his crippling straightforward emotional gut punches. "I just want you to be safe."

"Oh," said Duo. Everything clicked into place. "Last night, right. You don't want an encore performance of poor decision making skills. Good point. I won't, promise."

Heero, bless his heart, looked flummoxed at the quick agreement. Duo shrugged the blanket up around his shoulders. "Hey. Don't worry about it." Know Heero that wasn't going to happen, but Duo figured it was worth a shot anyway. He took Heero's hand in his and drew him toward the bed.

There was a hesitation in the way Heero kissed him, but the rough calluses on his hands were just as gentle as ever as they unwrapped Duo from the blanket and found all the little places that roused heat and pleasure in him. As he promised, Duo let Heero take care of things. And, oh, how he took care – exquisite tenderness, like Duo was made of glass or spun sugar or memory. It was almost painful, how gently Heero handled him, how slow and restrained and exceedingly careful he was with each touch and kiss. Maybe Duo really was dreaming still. He'd never known Heero to treat him like this. Every stupid affectionate thing he'd ever wanted Heero to say to him poured out into physical action, and by the end of things Duo felt dizzy and breathless and _loved_.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

One more update before Hurricane Sandy arrives. (I so can't take the storm seriously due to the name.)

Right now the wind's howling, the rain's lacing down sideways, and the streets are flooding fast from the storm surge, but I've got plenty of candles and my notebook for when the power goes out. Which could be at any moment, so I'll post this quick and get back to typing!

Until next time!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	102. Trouble, Part Two

LSC / 11-1-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Two: Trouble, Part Two)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 102

**Trouble, Part Two**

* * *

Trowa ended the phone call with Duo feeling only marginally less anxious than at the outset. After taking a moment to compose himself, Trowa left his room to rejoin Quatre and Catherine in the living room. They both glanced up at the sight of him, but only Quatre's gaze stuck. He offered a wan smile from the curled ball he occupied in the corner of the sofa.

The afternoon had gone well enough that Trowa worried all the more for Quatre's apparent relapse. After his disastrous meltdown in front of Catherine, Trowa found an uneasy calm in taciturn not-silence. Certainly not the same absolute dearth of communication that was for so long his sanctuary, but just a general quiet that both his sister and Quatre willingly indulged. They made light enough conversation, and as the day wore on Quatre brightened out of his fog. He improved so much, in fact, that he and Catherine put dinner together in light-hearted banter with Quatre even going so far as to laugh softly at a well-placed joke from Catherine.

As they ate, though, things changed in a slow, worrisome decline. Quatre's replies quieted to a whisper and then faded entirely into white-faced misery. He set aside his plate and made a polite mumbling excuse before staggering into the bathroom. Trowa rose up from his own dinner and followed after Quatre with heavy concern. From beyond the closed door came the muted sound of retching, and that was the precise moment Trowa's anxiety reached a dizzying spike.

Catherine caught him away from the bathroom door and conferred all her equal concern. "That bump – Trowa, does he need to see a doctor? Ah, but, his family..." She bit her lip, and the very fact that she would feel the same unwillingness as him to ruin Quatre's cover imbued Trowa with a rush of gratitude.

Having reached the same reluctant indecision as Trowa, Catherine let the matter drop. She began to clear away the dishes from the makeshift dining arrangement of the living room. Trowa hovered in the hall and listened to the hushed sound of Quatre splashing himself clean in the sink. When Quatre opened the door and saw Trowa standing there, he dropped his gaze to the floor in hot embarrassment. Absent from his all too pale complexion was any hint of flush.

Rather than press the issue into even more awkwardness for Quatre, Trowa wrapped him into a brief hug and stroked a hand over the back of the boy's head to flatten down the flyaway wisps of his soft gold hair. Quatre shivered with brief tension before yielding into the embrace, and soon after Trowa struck on the idea of calling Duo for advice. Not that Duo had much to offer, and frankly Trowa found the dreamy half-coherent responses just as bewildering. So, no, calling Duo hadn't so much soothed his nerves as exhausted them.

Trowa set the phone down on the coffee table and sat beside Quatre. Although still a bit shaky and colorless, Quatre at least didn't seem likely to be sick again. Trowa put his arm around the boy's thin shoulders and drew Quatre against him. He balked for a moment and tried to shrug off the affection with a quick glance to Catherine, who sat in her armchair reading a book. Trowa gently insisted and succeeded in bringing Quatre into the embrace.

As the evening wore on, Quatre became heavy and lax against him. Trowa kept a steady hold over him and pretended to watch the television. Quatre's breath pooled into his neck with warm, delightful regularity. By the time Catherine closed up her book to get ready for bed, Quatre was already mostly asleep.

"Quatre?" he asked softly. Trowa nudged the gentle weight of him off his shoulder.

"Mnm?" Quatre pulled himself upright and stretched a hand out to find Sandy, who's been settled in his lap while he slouched against Trowa.

Too late Trowa remembered Duo's order of questions for Heero's post-concussion sleeping. It seemed silly to ask Quatre his name and cruel to ask yet again if he remembered colliding with the table. Trowa instead ran his hand up the line of Quatre's arm to draw his attention and asked, "Ready to go to bed?"

"Okay," said Quatre, so faintly that it hardly counted as speech.

"How does your head feel?"

"Mmn…" Quatre fretted a thoughtful look at him. The genuine consideration of the question was at least better than a quick white lie, although the fact he had to think about it as all certainly worried Trowa. "It hurts a little," he said, in the same barely-there voice.

"I'm sorry," said Trowa. He truly meant it, too, because it was his extreme careless ness that caused Quatre's injury in the first place.

That made it all the more heart-shatteringly precious when Quatre offered a small smile and said, "It's not your fault."

After the cathartic ruin of telling Catherine everything, the last thing Trowa wanted was more secrets, especially from Quatre. Equally strong, however, was a reluctance to upset Quatre further when he so clearly felt unwell. Trowa brushed affectionately at Quatre's bangs to pull them away from the wound. Quatre winced in anticipation of Trowa touching at the tender expanse of battered flesh. The swelling seemed about the same, but the bruising had darkened into an exceptionally painful looking blue-black.

"Do you feel sick still?" asked Trowa.

A blush at last found Quatre's cheeks. His response came in a full mumble, hopelessly tangled around shy, awkward embarrassment. The only coherent part was an apology.

"No," said Trowa. He squeezed Quatre in a light, quick hug. "It's okay. Do you need a bowl by the bed or anything?"

Quatre shook his head. He shrank in on himself, becoming so small and vulnerable that it did terrible things to Trowa's self-control. "I'm okay," said Quatre. "Sorry."

Telling Quatre not to apologize would only upset him more, so Trowa let the matter drop. Once Catherine finished washing her face, she and Quatre shared the sink to brush their teeth for bed. Only as Trowa got down the trundle bedding did he realize he'd never actually asked about Quatre spending the night. It just felt assumed that he would.

"Goodnight," said Catherine. "I have tomorrow off, so don't worry about getting up early."

Trowa knew that, since normally his schedule mirrored hers, but she spoke more for Quatre's benefit.

"Okay," said Quatre. He started to take Sandy's ear into his mouth, but after a quick, striking glance at Catherine half-hid the teddy bear behind his leg instead.

She noticed, of course. Quatre hadn't let go of his bear all day, which was a sure sign of his disquiet, and even though Catherine had to be more than a little curious she never once said anything. Trowa recalled Quatre's assurance that he'd told Catherine the truth, and it forced a wry sort of amusement into him. All this honesty, and him still holding one vile secret. When Quatre's feeling better, Trowa decided. He promised himself that imposed deadline – unless Quatre regained his memory of the events at the same time, in case Trowa felt he probably deserved the rare flash of Quatre's fury. He never should have behaved so utterly, thoughtlessly, carelessly, recklessly _stupid_.

"Night," Trowa told his sister. She smiled at him with good intentions, but the subdued happiness of the gesture only underscored his incredibly awkward he felt _talking_ to her. He turned away before the unease could reach his face and collected Quatre with the same motion.

Trowa settled on to the very edged of his bed so as to be able to watch Quatre on the low-set pulled-out trundle. With the lights out, he was only a soft outline of pale hair and bruised shadows, but Trowa felt better being able to see him. Trowa draped his arm over the edge and found Quatre's hand to hold. The angle might put his arm to sleep along with the rest of him. but Quatre squeezed his hand and that glued the uncomfortable position in place.

"Goodnight," said Trowa.

Quatre curled right into his hand and nuzzled the uninjured parts of his face into even that small amount of physical contact. "Night." He whispered the word into the back of Trowa's hand like a kiss.

* * *

There was a certain abrupt roughness to it all, like being shoved into a swimming pool in winter. Quatre felt very much as if he'd skipped several important things in order to arrive at the current situation. He couldn't even begin to piece everything together, but the shattering urgency of his surroundings demanded that he make an attempt.

Quatre was sitting upright in the bed, and there was Trowa, right in front of him with a tight grip on his shoulders. A wide intrusion of light ran across the dark bedroom and cast strange shadows over Trowa's deeply worried expression. Quatre had no idea what he'd done to set a such a panicked look into Trowa, but he was very sorry for it all the same.

"Quatre?" said Trowa. He spoke very slow and careful.

Instead of answering, Quatre look a long look around the bedroom. There was the bed, okay, and the trundle section where Trowa knelt with his knees pressed to Quatre's hips in a mockery of affection. Further out Quatre could see the dark hulk of the dresser and the half-open closet door and the open doorway with Catherine partially blocking the light from the hallway. Due to the way the light caught her in shadow, Quatre couldn't see her face, but he'd put good odds on her concern matching her brother's.

Trowa set a trembling hand against one side of Quatre's face and said his name again in the same patient, questioning tone. Quatre became aware of more things, like the dizzying rush of his pulse and the raw, racing way he kept gulping shallow breath. Cold sweat glued wisps of his bangs to his forehead and clung the shirt he wore against his back.

"W-what happened?" The words came out scratchy and dry like old newspaper.

Some small relief lightened Trowa's brow out of its intense furrow. "Quatre? You're okay now. You're awake."

"Okay," he said. He wasn't sure at all what there else there was to say. Gradual, creeping humiliation flooded into the shakiness of his confusion. Quatre managed to calm his breathing into long, deep inhalations, although the outrush of air was still tremulous and quick. He needed to stop that before the dizziness became too much.

Trowa rubbed comfort into the crook of Quatre's neck. "You're awake now," he said again. "You're okay."

The repeated, insistent reassurances only confirmed his hesitant analysis of the situation. "D-did I wake you?" He bit his lip hard enough that he tasted copper. "Did I yell…?"

"Oh, honey," said Trowa. He spoke in that wonderfully kind way of his, but sounded so devastated that Quatre felt an echoing flutter of distress. Trowa pulled him forward in a hug that bordered on crushing. "It's okay. Don't worry about that."

"Is everything all right?" asked Catherine from the doorway.

Quatre spared her a guilty look. How loud had he been to wake even Catherine?

"Yes," said Trowa. He twisted up for a moment to click on the bedside lamp, and that served as Catherine's unspoken signal to leave. She withdrew and closed the door behind her, leaving them in privacy.

Quatre clutched at Trowa's shoulders. "Okay. I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry."

Trowa hushed him gently and cupped Quatre's head into his shoulder. Certainly Trowa only meant to console him, and just as certainly Quatre would have normally enjoyed the feel of Trowa pressed reassuringly close, but they'd both forgotten entirely about the bump on Quatre's forehead. His muffled, half-bitten short outcry made Trowa flinch into equal apology.

"It's okay," Quatre said quickly. He refrained from rubbing at the ache in his head. Before he could even think to ask for his bear, Trowa was placing Sandy into his lap. Quatre closed his hands over the soft fur and ducked his head down to hide from the heavy weight of Trowa's concern.

Trowa shifted off Quatre so that he leaned against the lopsided edge where his side of the bed met the trundle. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

Quatre shrugged. There wasn't much to say, considering the absence of his memory. Actually, thinking about it, he could barely remembering going to bed in the first place. Maybe if he really concentrated on it, sure, he could recall a vague awareness of Trowa speaking to him quietly and the minty, scrubbing remembrance of brushing his teeth. Before that, what came before that? Wooziness and nausea and misery, so, before even _that_…? Helping Catherine make dinner, hanging around the apartment, laying down in Trowa's bed in the middle of the afternoon and—

"Quatre?" Trowa sat forward with a sharp note of alarm. "What's wrong? Is it that bad? Honey, it's okay – you're awake now." Trowa brushed his fingers over Quatre's cheeks, wiping away tears that he hardly realized had accumulated.

"Oh," said Quatre. "No, I'm sorry—" He hurried scrubbed his eyes clear. "I was just thinking, um, I – it's nothing."

He'd been thinking of Trowa's breakdown that afternoon, which set off a terrible chain reaction of memory stretching all the way back to him speaking in front of Duo for the first time. There was a murky fog over a large portion of that day, clustered around the time he must have hit his head, but now if Quatre thought hard enough he could pull out disconnected flashes. Talking with Duo on the telephone, the orange prescription, yelling a bunch of horrible things at Trowa, the stunned, wretched, panic-inducing desolation on Trowa's face as Quatre shouted his accusations. Faster now, more utterly disjointed memories. Something on his tongue that tasted of sugary syrup and bitter medicine, more yelling, the clattering sound of his shoulder and hips striking the kitchen cabinets, and the star-burst agony of hitting the table.

"You can tell me," Trowa said.

"No," Quatre said. All that memory, yes, but not a single one to indicate what he'd been dreaming about. Something nasty, if he'd woken everyone up with it. Heat rushed into his face. A wounded look crossed over Trowa's face, so Quatre hurried to elaborate. "I can't remember. I'm fine now, though. Really. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Trowa clearly didn't believe his denial in regards to what the nightmare was about. Quatre could tell by the sloped tilt of his eyebrows and the severe tenderness in the way that he smoothed aside the sweat-slicked fall of Quatre's hair.

Quatre hunched his shoulders over his knees, which he pulled tight to his chest. It trapped Sandy into a tight squeeze, but the bear's stitched face reflected only calm acceptance of his stuffed lot in life. "Do you think Catherine's upset I woke her…?"

"No," Trowa said at once. "Of course not. I'm not either." He folded Quatre into a hug and kissed the corner of his eye, so that it made Quatre scrunch his face together into a shy smile.

"I really don't remember my dream," said Quatre.

Trowa shook his head. "Good, then. It sounded – awful." He choked over the word.

Quatre unclenched his knees and nestled into Trowa's ready arms. "Sor—"

Trowa silenced him with an insistent kiss. "Don't apologize," he said, when they parted. "Please."

An entirely different kind of flush kindled fire across his cheeks. Quatre mumbled an agreement that hedged close to but avoided being another apology. Trowa kissed him again, slow and languorous, as his fingers plied affectionate caresses through Quatre's hair. Little shivers radiated out from the touch and bubbled a joyous response in him.

With one final, nearly chaste kiss on Quatre's cheek, Trowa transitioned back up into his bed again. Quatre tried not to show his disappointment, because he understand it was likely quite late. Much too late for them to be starting all the things Trowa's touch promised, so Quatre flopped down into his bedding and tried not to seem sulky about it. He pulled Sandy up near his face but was careful to keep even the soft fur from pressing against the injured side. Trowa clicked off the lamp. The mattress creaked as he settled into the far edge of the bed, so as to dangle a hand down to the trundle like he often did, and that made Quatre smile.

As he tried to drift back to sleep, however, anxious thoughts kept plucking at him with pestering frequency. Enough that he finally whispered, "Trowa?"

Trowa's hand twitched against his shoulder in languid response.

"Trowa?"

"Hm?"

"Never mind." Quatre closed his teeth over Sandy's ear.

"No," said Trowa thickly. "I'm awake."

"Oh." Quatre rolled on to his back and stared up at the faint moonlight streaking over ceiling.

When he didn't say anything further, Trowa gave his shoulder a light, attentive shake. "What is it?"

"I, um. There's, um."

Another silence followed during which Quatre failed to say anything. Trowa found his hand in the dark. "Are you afraid of having another nightmare? Here. Come here." He pulled Quatre up into the narrow bed and wrapped him close.

That wasn't what was bothering Quatre, but he didn't want to admit that and kicked down to the trundle again. The reassuring lull of Trowa's heartbeat sounded nice. Quatre rolled Sandy under his cheek like a pillow and felt Trowa's arms tighten over him with the motion. It gave him the strength to burst out in a rush, "I'm sorry for saying all those mean things to you this morning. Are you, um, mad?"

"What? No. Of course not. I'd never... God, if anything, I should apologize. It was my fault for being so..." Trowa sighed. "Quatre, your head – that's my fault. It was an accident, I swear. I _never_ meant to hurt you like that. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," said Quatre. "B-but you said I fell." And he remembered that, he remembered falling into the table. An uncontrollable shudder ran over him at the idea of Trowa being responsible, and that didn't match up with his memories at all. He remembered yelling at Trowa, but all the flashes and fogs and skips jumbling around up in his thoughts were of Trowa being kind and gentle with him.

"You did," Trowa said quickly. "You did fall. We both did. But I knocked you down. Because I – oh, Quatre... Does your head hurt still?"

"A little," he said.

"You do seem better," murmured Trowa. His lips fell against Quatre's hair. "I didn't tell you earlier only because I didn't want to upset you," he said. And then he slowly filled all the little gaps in Quatre's mental narrative. The patches of fog contained a lot of things he thought would have been better off left in temporary amnesia, but Trowa seemed desperate to unload the burden. After the confession to Catherine earlier, Quatre could understand the urge; Trowa had kept a lot of painful things bottled up, and he certainly didn't want to add to the boy's worries by being too sensitive to handle the truth of what had happened.

The stuck together flashes still didn't make a lot of sense, because Quatre couldn't actually remember any of the things Trowa told him about. The last absolute clear memory he had was eating cereal for breakfast with Trowa. Everything after that turned fuzzy and dim. Especially unclear was the full of their fight, and he felt a deep remorse for having set into Trowa such a panic. Well, almost – he could just as fairly turn that around on Trowa, for taking the pills and wanting to... Quatre shuddered again at the bright what-if terror of losing Trowa.

Trowa must have felt the shivering fear, because he enfolded Quatre so securely that nearly hurt. "I'm so sorry," Trowa said again. "For everything, Quatre. I really do love you. Please know that, please know that I won't ever do anything so, so... _stupid_ again. I'm really an idiot to scare you like that. So much that you'd—" Trowa squeezed him again.

"Don't say that," begged Quatre. "Don't say that about yourself."

"All right," said Trowa. It was a very pacifying agreement and not meant sincerely, but Quatre didn't want to press the issue and risk upsetting Trowa. He also doubted it was going to be that simple, but warmth and happiness flooded him all the same with Trowa's earnest intentions.

Quatre wiggled up from the constriction of Trowa's arms to kiss him. It was a bit awkward, given the small space, but they comfortably arranged around each other to ignore the trundle for the second night in a row. Quatre almost asleep when he heard Trowa chuckle, low and faint. "Forget a new car. I'm going to buy a bigger bed."

* * *

From either habit or purpose, Catherine woke up earlier than either of them and cooked a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and even waffles, although they were the frozen kind and not homemade like Heero's. Quatre loaded up his plate but quickly discovered he couldn't stomach more than a few picked-apart bites. The same woozy feeling as yesterday rose up in tandem force with a spiking ache in his head, but this time Quatre was determined keep what little he had eaten down. It took so much effort that he forgot to respond at all some question of Catherine's, and by the time Trowa caught his attention, they were both looking at him with concern.

"Um, what?" he managed to say.

"Maybe not," said Trowa swiftly. He was staring at Quatre, but the words seemed directed to Catherine.

"I'll go," offered Catherine. "You can just give me a list of what you want."

"Can you get the money out of my account without me there?"

"I should be able to," said Catherine. "Otherwise you can just pay me back."

"What?" asked Quatre again. He swallowed, hard, and balled his hands into fists. The wafting aroma of his mostly full plate had seemed delicious a few minutes ago, and now he very much wanted to ignore it. His head throbbed so fiercely that he nearly saw double, but there was no way he was going to let Trowa or Catherine know that. Especially Trowa, after he'd tried to blame himself for the accident. The last thing he wanted was to cause Trowa a bunch of unnecessary guilt.

"It doesn't need to be today," Trowa said.

Catherine got to her feet. "Well, I need to run errands anyway. Just write down what all you want. I'll take care of it." She took her and Trowa's empty plates but after a quick, searching look left Quatre his. Presently the sound of her rattling dishes into the sink drifted through from the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" asked Quatre.

Trowa shook his head. "Nothing. Will you try to eat a little more?"

Quatre avoided looking at his food. "I'm not hungry," he mumbled. He shouldn't speak like that, so clumsy and timid, because it would only breathe color into the white lie. His stomach felt so tied up in knots that it surpassed mere hunger, but the thought of even a tiny bite of fluffy scrambled eggs or syrupy-sweet waffles churned up a gut-wrenching nausea that trembled on the edge of his self-control. To avoid worrying Trowa, he tried for a reassuring, careless smile.

By the look Trowa gave him, Quatre knew his smile hadn't quite met intentions. Trowa slid across the sofa cushions and put an arm around him. "We can just stay in and take it easy today. Let you rest more."

"Didn't you want to go shopping with Catherine?" Quatre wrung his hands together and wished he'd hadn't left Sandy sitting on Trowa's bed that morning. His fingers longed to curl into the bear's soft fur.

"Don't worry about that," said Trowa. "Just money burning a hole in my pocket is all." He smiled, and it carried a wonderful warmth and kindness. It was reassuring, unlike Quatre's attempted effort. Quatre nodded, and Trowa released him from the sideways hug. He found a pen and sheet of scrap paper off the coffee table and quickly wrote his shopping list.

Catherine came back out of the kitchen. She didn't say anything about Quatre's still untouched plate of food, and he suddenly felt anxious that she might think he just didn't like her cooking. Trowa handed her the short list of things he wanted, and while she looked it over, Quatre anxiously fretted over which was the greater trouble; admitting that his stomach felt queasy, or letting Catherine think he hated her cooking. He was still trying to decide when Catherine lifted her eyes from the piece of paper and said, "Really?"

And the tone was incredulous enough that Trowa blanked his face and nodded.

Catherine's mouth pressed into a thin line. Her reaction distracted Quatre from his current bundle of worry and presented an entirely new one, making him juggle the stress around until he nearly became dizzy with it. Obviously she saw something in Trowa's list that displeased her, or at least was causing her to frown so fixedly at him. The determinedly neutral expression on Trowa's face tried to give nothing away, but to Quatre it only highlighted how tense the entire silent exchange was becoming.

"You know," said Catherine at last. She ran a long, critical look over the rest of the apartment. "My lease is up at the end of the year."

Trowa shook his head, which didn't make a lot of sense as a response.

Sudden empathy tinged Catherine's face out of its frown. She must have recognized Trowa's withdrawal into silence and figured herself out as the source. Her eyes cut to Quatre and then back to her brother. "I guess we should go talk in my room about some things first. Sorry, Quatre. I know that's rude."

"No, it's okay," said Quatre swiftly.

Almost right on top of him, however, was Trowa with similar words but a wildly different meaning. "No, here's fine." He reached and took up Quatre's hand. His throat worked over a swallow, and the grip on Quatre's hand seemed more for his own comfort than anything. He'd gone nervous again, same as always when trying to talk when they weren't alone. "Whatever you need to say, Quatre can hear. This will affect him, too."

A strange, bubbly happiness shot through him with the force of an electric shock. Quatre wanted to object at possibly coming between the siblings, but it seemed entirely the wrong moment to do so. Trowa looked so resolute, and Catherine so puzzled, that Quatre forgot how to breathe with the sudden strain of it all.

Catherine lowered herself on to the edge of the armchair and set Trowa's list on the coffee table. Quatre couldn't help but tilt his head to get a look at the neat blocks of Trowa's lettering, and it was then that Quatre realized that Trowa had been completely serious last night about the bed purchase. He'd also written _table lamp_ and _bookcase_. It was fairly obvious Catherine hadn't put a lot of thought or effort into decorating or furnishing the apartment beyond the essentials, and it was equally clear that most of the furniture on Trowa's room especially was out of date. The lamp and bed both seemed better suited to a child than a teenage boy, and from what Quatre understood of Trowa's past that was because he'd spent the last several years either away at school or locked up in a hospital.

"All right," she said quietly. "I guess that makes sense. We do need to do something about this situation." She looked at Quatre, and the meaning was clear. Somehow the simple act of shopping had turned into a full-scale awkward conversation that he wanted very much not to be a part of. It seemed intolerably cruel to runaway now that Trowa had declared him part of the matter, but that didn't stop Quatre thinking all the same about pleading a headache to flee the room. It wouldn't even be much of a lie.

Trowa gripped his hand tight and said, "All right."

Since Trowa didn't seem inclined to elaborate, Catherine jumped into the resulting tense silence. "I hadn't planned to renew the lease here. I didn't see the point since I'm re-enrolling for the spring semester at the end of the month. Trowa, I just thought – I figured we'd get a place together near my university."

"You're going back to school?" said Trowa.

She seemed startled by the question. "Of course."

Trowa stared at her. Quatre squeezed his hand to try and pump reassurance into him. He knew that's what Trowa wanted her to do – he'd said as much just the other day, it seemed important to Trowa that Catherine finish her education. Quatre added some things up in his head and realized that she must have dropped out when Trowa … No wonder he clearly felt so guilty about it. The actual content of Catherine's words slowly sunk into place, and Quatre's heart sank right along with it.

Catherine continued. "I thought you knew that. I certainly don't want to be a waitress for the rest of my life. I've been saving up like crazy so I won't have to work at all while taking classes. I've still got quite a bit of the money Dad left me to cover tuition, so all that really leaves is rent and such – Really, Trowa, I was pretty sure we'd talked about this before."

Trowa shook his head very slowly from side to side. It set the sweep of his bangs into a concealing sway across his face. He seemed unable to look at her and instead focused on the clasped union of his and Quatre's hands.

"I thought you knew," said Catherine. She looked at Quatre. "I really do want for you to feel welcome here, but I can't – Trowa, I'm sorry – I didn't mean for it to go _this_ far." She waved a hand at the shopping list. "Quatre, I just can't ignore the fact that your dad doesn't know where you are. Goodness, he's probably called the police by now and filed a missing persons report and everything. I know I would, with Trowa, and even if you say he's not worried – I promise you, he is. I could get into a lot of legal trouble, and you, too, Trowa! You're eighteen now. You're an adult. What if they try to say you kidnapped Quatre? He's still a minor."

"That doesn't matter," said Trowa. "I don't care."

"Well, I do," said Catherine. "I care quite a bit. And what about your education, Quatre? How are you supposed to attend school if your family can't know where you are? You won't be able to get a driver's license, either. And that bump on your head! We can't even take you to the doctor. What if you've seriously hurt yourself? What if you get sick? Honestly, the two of you – I know you're both just kids, but you have to think about the consequences of what you're doing. Think about your family, Quatre. I promise they're worried sick about you."

Trowa's hand tightened over his so hard it cut off circulation, but Quatre could barely feel it. Catherine's words washed over him like ice water, rendering him numb and cold with the shock. From beside him came the sound of Trowa's voice, so wonderful to hear, but the actual content vanished into the space between Quatre's ears like smoke. Then came Catherine's voice, followed by her smile; she wasn't trying to be cruel, Quatre knew that. She objected to his presence from a place of concern. By the look of her and the sound of her voice, she was trying to convince Trowa of that before their conversation could twist into a fight.

"You've got it all wrong." That had been _his_ voice, so soft he was surprised that they even heard him. Quatre flicked a quick glance at Catherine, then Trowa, and finally surrendered his gaze to the floor. "The police won't be looking for me. You won't get in trouble."

"But you will," said Catherine gently.

He hadn't said that, but the implication must have come through clear enough. A shiver ran over Quatre, and Trowa lightened his hold only enough to keep from crushing his hand further. He rubbed his thumb over the ridges of Quatre's knuckles.

Catherine sighed, a quiet sound of defeat and sympathy. "Quatre, if you're in a bad situation at home… I want to help you. I'm not going to kick you out, either, so please – the both of you, stop looking at me like I might. I'm not that unreasonable. I just – Oh, fuck it! Being an adult _sucks_." She swore so infrequently that Trowa actually laughed, just in a short, snorting way, but Quatre could barely function around the mile-a-minute acceleration of his heart. The wry grin slid off her face to make room for a twist of concern so jagged it looked painful. "Quatre?"

He'd prefer if they both stopped looking at him like that. Especially Trowa, who ducked his head close and whispered, "Are you all right?"

Quatre nodded, even though he wasn't, and clenched his teeth around empty longing. Of all times to not have Sandy… but at least he had Trowa, who shifted as if to shield Quatre from his sister. He swallowed a great deal of panic and managed to keep a somewhat level tone to say, "I promise you won't get in trouble for helping me."

A stricken look crossed Catherine's face, pronounced enough that Quatre worried for a moment that his intended words had come out instead as gibberish. They'd sounded all right, if a bit fuzzy around the edges from the stress of stay calm. She tipped forward in her chair and said, "Quatre… I do want to help you. I really do. Trowa, too, obviously. What's wrong at home that you don't want to go back?"

Hot and cold, all at once, nipping a tingly sensation into his toes and fingers, even the one that Trowa held and massaged so comfortingly. Catherine's wide, imploring eyes focused on him, and Trowa was no better with his half-fearful curiosity as he bounced an anxious look between Quatre and his sister. Of course they wondered. Quatre couldn't blame them for that. His breath hitched around the rapid, shallow effort of desperately trying to keep a steadier rhythm.

"If it's something that you're afraid of – Quatre, if someone's been hurting you – there's something we can do about that. You don't have to—"

"Catherine, stop," snapped Trowa. "Stop talking to him like that." He let go of Quatre's hand and instead took him by the shoulders with a sudden urgency. "Quatre, calm down. Try to breathe slow, okay?"

"What's wrong?" asked Catherine. "What'd I say?" She half-rose out her chair with a flustered, bewildering worry, but Trowa let go of Quatre just long enough to flap a frantic gesture at her. She froze and then slowly sat back down.

Quatre nodded at Trowa, because it was all he could think of to do. The absolute worst time for him to have a panic attack was that exact second, with Catherine right there watching, and her concern blown open already. Forget their talk about his father and whatever other terrible assumptions she wanted to make – if Quatre couldn't get himself under control – but he needed to think about something else, something less nerve-wracking and fear-inducing. He nodded again. Despite his struggles otherwise, the swirling fuzz-on-static sparks across his vision promised that Quatre was failing in the effort in gain sufficient air with his shallow, forced intake. If he indulged the urge for heaving gasps, however, he'd lose the battle to seem normal in front of Catherine.

Not that he was really fooling anyone, what with Trowa's fretting, and Quatre locked tight around the next breath until everything dulled and blacked around the edges. He released it in a rush and then tried again. Eventually the shaking terror lessened and left without breaking him down entirely. "Okay," he told Trowa. "I'm okay."

Trowa swept him into a relieved hug. "Don't," he hushed over to Catherine. Quatre couldn't see her, buried as he was into Trowa's shoulder, but she must have started to say something. Trowa spoke again, "Leave him alone, Cath."

"I'm only trying to help," she protested softly.

"He doesn't have anywhere else to go," said Trowa. "Does it really matter why?"

Quatre contracted his shoulders against the uncomfortable prickly sensation of being talked about like he wasn't there. Rather than object or elaborate or even look at either of them, he burrowed tighter against Trowa and wished that he'd instead indulged in so much violent panic that he passed out. Well, okay, that might save him from the terrible conversation, but it would have scared Trowa and likely convinced everyone that he was truly defective.

A horribly long silence followed Trowa's words. Either he and Catherine were communicating exclusively through meaningful looks, or they really were just staring each other down with Quatre literally caught between them. He huddled against Trowa and waited for the still too-quick beat of his pulse to settle out along with the rest.

"All right," said Catherine, in a very subdued tone. "We'll figure something out." The chair creaked as she stood. "But we have a house full of furniture, you know. It's just sitting there gathering dust. I'll clear a few days off work this weekend for us to take a U-haul out there and get you a different lamp or, whatever."

Trowa's arms tightened over Quatre. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," warned Catherine. "You'll be the one doing all the heavy lifting. Well. I'll go get dressed and run the rest of my errands now." She hesitated, like maybe there was more to be said, and Quatre scrunched himself into the smallest shape possible because he just _knew_ whatever she wanted to say was to him. The moment passed in silence, however, and then came the hushed sound of her footsteps across the carpet. A door open and closed, and only then did Quatre let out a rush of held breath.

He pushed slightly at the restriction of Trowa's embrace, and then felt guilty at the overly courteous way Trowa jolted to release him. Quatre tucked his head down to avoid catching Trowa's eye. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't apologize," said Trowa gently. "She means well, Quatre. Don't feel like… You don't owe me any kind of explanation, okay? I'll handle Catherine."

"At least she's going back to school." Quatre wanted Trowa to be happy about that.

"We don't have to move with her," said Trowa. "I know you'll want to stay near Duo and the others. Don't worry about that. I promise; I'll take care of this." He punctuated the reassurance with a firm hug. "Everything's going to work out. I'll make sure of it. Duo said you can always come stay with him and Heero, and even if I go with Catherine… I'll come visit you, all the time, and you can come visit us and – Oh, Quatre, please don't cry."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I made it through the hurricane just fine; I really hope all of you did as well. I have a Tumblr now where I'll be indulging in GW and BL fandom ramblings. Come check me out if you like; I've just joined and haven't quite gotten the hang of things, but I'd like to give it a try.

Next update will be delayed by the anime convention this weekend, but I'll work hard at it when I can. Thank you for reading!

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte ( )


	103. Reluctance

LSC / 11-11-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Three: Reluctance)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 103

**Reluctance**

* * *

When Catherine left to run her errands, Quatre was still cloistered away in Trowa's bedroom with Sandy. He'd stopped crying at least, not that there'd been many tears to begin with – just a strange, ominous kind of sadness that twisted Trowa's heart into a million tiny little shreds of helpless concern. No matter how many reassurances Trowa gave, Quatre returned only the same miserable fallen angel look.

It was better than the earlier panic, and for all that Trowa loved his sister, he was about ready to lace her up one side and down the other for pressing at Quatre like that. Trowa forced himself to remember that she couldn't possibly understand Quatre like he could; she couldn't read the little signs of distress, the building tension that always signaled that Quatre was about to slip. Trowa was trying to get better at that himself, ever since he'd set Quatre into a panic after the silly drinking game, and Catherine's persistent questioning had obviously been enough to worry Quatre into a near brush with disaster.

Trowa could forgive her curiosity. It wasn't as if he didn't all the same questions for Quatre, especially after the horrible nightmare the night before. He'd never known Quatre to so much as fuss in his sleep in all their recent nights together, let alone wake the whole house with his screaming. For the first few lightning-bolt shock moments after he'd woken up, Trowa's disorientation was so great that he confused Quatre's shrieking with the fit right after their fight over the pill bottle, and it had become a living nightmare for him as well. Getting Quatre to snap free of it had certainly felt the same, although once awake the boy seemed perfectly fine; embarrassed, even, at being caught in such dire circumstances.

After a few coaxing efforts at getting Quatre to abandon his depressed little ball on the bed, Trowa succeeded in at least transferring his sulking to the living room. He seemed only inclined to go along with the shift in scenery because Catherine had left, and Trowa idly wished for the easy cooperation of the day before. If not for the fact it was a stupid idea and an unbearably painful one, Trowa would be half-tempted to throw himself into whatever misery necessary to unite Quatre and Catherine again.

A repeat performance of his breakdown withstanding, Trowa felt fairly confident that he'd be able to balance out Quatre's enigmatic reluctance and his sister's well-intended inquisitiveness. The fact that she planned to re-enroll in school did please him – he liked the idea of her finishing the degree that his carelessness caused her to abandon in the first place – but the fact remained that her university town lay several hours away. Of course she'd move, and it was equally natural for her to assume to take Trowa with her. Ever since his birthday and finding out about his inheritance, all Trowa's plans for the future involved Catherine returning to school. Somehow he'd never accounted for the fact she already intended to do so.

He thought to broach the subject with Quatre, now that they were alone. Last time he'd assaulted Quatre with all the various options, he'd nearly worked him right into a panic – Quatre had his own ideas about what he wanted, and now Trowa realized how strange it was that Quatre hadn't mentioned any of that to Catherine. Sure, they'd both been knocked a bit sideways by Catherine's flurry of concern, but hadn't Quatre already more or less contacted his family? As far as Trowa understood, at least, although he hadn't really brought up the subject with Quatre for fear of upsetting him. All the recent excitement, first with him talking and other idiotic behaviors, and then Quatre hitting his head – Trowa let it slip his mind. If Catherine knew that, she might feel somewhat mollified. Someone with a modicum of responsibility for Quatre had been contacted.

Trowa took one look at the way Quatre picked at his teddy bear's face and knew he wouldn't say anything of the sort. The suddenness of the hug startled Quatre; he flinched like expecting a blow, same as always when a touch caught him off guard, although the relaxed way he melted into Trowa's arms was equally familiar. Trowa kissed the boy's cheek and neck and even his ear, overcome with tender affection. It didn't matter to him in the slightest, so long as he could keep hold of Quatre like this. So long as they were together, nothing else mattered.

Quatre scrunched his face together and shied away from the kisses, although by the shy, flashing smile Trowa knew it wasn't true rejection. He nuzzled into Quatre's shoulder and stayed there, wrapped around him, until he felt all the tension drain out from the boy's small frame. He would have stayed there for hours, all the way until Catherine came home and then some, but the phone interrupted them. Quatre jolted with a shivering sort of apprehension that completely undid all of Trowa's calming efforts.

"Let the machine get it," he told Quatre. Trowa doubted that Catherine would call and, even if she did, he'd be able to pick up once the recording started.

Quatre nibbled an agreement into Sandy's ear. After several rings the machine clicked over to Catherine's simple greeting, and then the message started. "Uh, yo. Hi. This is, um – whelp. Guess you're not in, sooo…."

Duo's bouncing, unmistakably drawl. Trowa reluctantly let go of Quatre to fetch the phone out from the base. "Hello."

"Ah!" said Duo. "Screening your calls, eh?" He sounded more alert than last time, although a strange disquieting cord still ran through the normally elevated peaks of his voice.

Trowa wasn't sure what to say next. Telephone conversations came as even more difficult than face to face ones. Fortunately Duo was always good enough to fill any and every awkward silence. "Listen – Tro, about last time we spoke. Hey, did you know it's my new thing to apologize for every single time I open my fucking mouth? True story. Okay, I learned my lesson about mystery meds. The only time I was actually hung over I felt better than I do now. It's like my fucking head got bashed in with a jackhammer and, speaking of smashed skulls, how's my Cutie-Q?"

The boy in question crawled over the sofa to reach Trowa. "Can I?" he whispered. He stuck a hand out for the phone.

Trowa nodded. "He's right here. Hold on." He gave Quatre the phone.

"Hi," said Quatre. He listened for a bit, working Sandy's ear between his teeth. "Uh-huh. Hm. Yeah? Really? I'm sorry. Okay. Okay. Yeah, actually. Okay." The soft smile on Quatre's face ignited Trowa's sudden gratitude for Duo's cheerful friendship.

"Um, maybe?" Quatre glanced up at Trowa. "Hang on, I'll – Trowa, do you want to go over to Duo's with me?

After a wavering hesitation, Trowa shook his head. "I need to be here when Catherine gets back."

"Oh. Of course." Disappointment fluttered over Quatre's face. "Duo? I can't. I'm sorry. Um? Maybe – Trowa? Would it be all right if Duo came over here?"

Trowa nodded. Catherine had left wearing one of her flashy designer sweaters, full make up, and plush heeled boots. She likely meant to meet a friend for lunch, as not even Catherine dressed up for simple groceries and banking. That left plenty of time for Duo to come over, cheer up Quatre, and then clear out before she returned. Worst case scenario and Catherine did recognize Duo from the hospital, all they had to do was pretend Duo was legitimately released. It wasn't like Duo had any family to fret at Catherine's conscience.

"Yay, come over," said Quatre softly. "Okay. See you. Bye." He pressed off the phone and handed it up to Trowa.

Trowa bent to kiss Quatre's forehead in the mirrored location of the bruised-up injury. Quatre hesitated into a smile. "Do you mind? About Duo. He's bored over at Heero's by himself."

"No," said Trowa. He sat back down and gathered Quatre into a loose hug. "It's fine."

"You know," said Quatre slowly. He mauled at Sandy's face without actually harming the stitching. "We kept trying to say we were in this together. Me, Duo, and Zechs. When we left the hospital, that was the plan. Now I'm here, Duo's there, and I don't even know what happened to Zechs. I really hope he's okay." Quatre flashed him a quick, apprehensive glance, as if fearful of Trowa's reaction. "Sorry," he added in a whisper.

Trowa curled the soft wisps of spun gold behind Quatre's ear. Irrational jealousy burned at him with the memory of tall, good-looking Zechs wrapped around Quatre with enough tenderness in his expression that Trowa still felt a bursting fury, even then, even just thinking about it. He'd already made a bully of himself over it, however, and he loathed seeing Quatre turn so uncertain. "It's all right," Trowa said. "I'm sure he's fine."

Quatre flicked another half-second look at him. "Um." He clenched a grip into his bear. "That time, I was crying, it was because, Zechs, he, um. D-do you know those cuffs he always wears, at his wrists? They're to hide scars. He, um, you know. And, you – it's the same, so, I just got really worked up over it and, I guess since I was drunk, I started crying because I didn't... I didn't know what to do about you, and— Oh, please. Don't repeat this. I didn't want to say anything, he hates having people see them. It really bothers him."

He certainly understood that feeling. Trowa had never asked what particular mental disorder landed Zechs in with Duo and Quatre's company at the hospital, but apparently he and Zechs shared a reluctant amount in common. A sharp pang twisted his heart at hearing Quatre's timid explanation, and at the same time his arms radiating the old familiar shame. He'd dressed already in a comforting long-sleeved shirt, one of the same ones that had gone with him to the hospital and back, and gratitude filled him for cold weather.

"I won't—" Trowa broke from the phrase _I won't tell anyone_ with a shudder. "I'm not upset with you for that. I know he's your friend."

The reassurance earned him the slightest hint of a smile. "Okay," said Quatre. He shrugged out of Trowa's hold and hopped up from the sofa. "I'm going to go get ready."

Trowa nodded and watched Quatre drift toward the hall. His thoughts were in such a tangle, all snarled and looped around a very specific and continuous conundrum, so after a moment Trowa decided to go empty out the dishwasher for Catherine.

Duo's distinctive patterned knocking came just as Trowa left the kitchen, so he answered promptly enough that Duo actually took a half-step back in surprise. "Hey," he said. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced than usual, highlighting the supposed hangover.

Quatre popped in from the hallway. "Hi!"

"Heya, Q-q-mew. I brought your stuff." Duo flashed Quatre's backpack, stuffed full, as he stepped into the apartment. He glanced up at Trowa and said, "Thanks for having me. Heero's at work, and I'm going bonkers bored."

"Catherine's out shopping," said Trowa.

"So flash and gab before she gets back, gotcha. Not a problem. Check it out. I brought cards. Want to play poker, Kitty-Q?"

Quatre's mouth tipped into a frown at the nickname, which struck Trowa as odd considering the plethora of ways Duo found to mutilate his name otherwise. The one person who seemed to escape Duo's constant renaming was Heero, of all people, who so far as Trowa heard never suffered the cutesy twists on his name. Duo noticed the way Quatre reacted, too, but before he could say anything Quatre came forward to claim his meager belongings. A great deal more of his things lay scattered in with Trowa's laundry, but on the whole he possessed nothing more personal than Sandy.

"I'll go put this up," said Quatre quietly. He hefted the backpack some to indicate what he meant before walking away with a shortness that wasn't quite a sulk.

Duo's focus drifted inward for a moment. He mouthed back over a few lines of dialog before giving Trowa a searching look. "What'd I say? Did I just piss off Quatre?"

Trowa shrugged. He glanced to the hall, to make sure Quatre was safely out of range, and said quickly, "Catherine worked him over this morning."

"Well, fuck. Need me to evac him to Heero's?

"Maybe."

Quatre's reappearance ended the conversation, and Duo brandished his playing cards and a grin with enough force that it eased Quatre down out of his earlier fuss, whatever the cause. The three of them played a few lazy rounds of cards with the television set to the trashiest daytime talk show Duo could find. Afterward Trowa let the two of them set up a simple game of War while he scrounged together leftovers for lunch. He kept a close watch on Quatre, who barely touched his food, and Trowa saw Duo's sharp attention peg on the disquiet as well. Once everyone finished eating, Trowa fetched his allotted pill from where Catherine had left it for him by the sink. He came back to stretch across the sofa while Quatre and Duo sat on the floor and played more card games.

Eventually it wore late enough that Trowa worried Catherine might return soon, so he caught Duo's eye and tried to convey the warning through a simple look before remembering his voice. Duo snagged the meaning without Trowa actually to say anything, however, and started to gather up the cards. "Hey, Quatre. Want to come over for dinner? I'm cooking, so I'll need someone to man the fire extinguisher and keep 911 on speed dial."

"Oh," said Quatre. He looked immediately to Trowa. "Um, that's okay. Thanks, though."

"Catherine will be back soon," Trowa assured him. He understood Quatre and Catherine's existing pact not to leave him unsupervised came from a place of concern, so he tried not to chafe at the restriction. "You can go if you want."

Hot crimson flooded Quatre's cheeks at being called out on the prevention watch. "Would that be okay? Do you mind?"

Trowa started to reach for Quatre's hair but remembered Duo just in time. The gesture fell short and awkward between them, but it was better than earning a teasing from Duo for being too affectionate in front of him. Trowa shook his head. "Go ahead. I need to talk with Catherine again anyway."

Alarm tumbled across Quatre's wavering expression. He paused, as if to ask another question, before withdrawing into a shy nod. "I'll get my jacket," he said. He left with Sandy tucked right up under his chin, a sure sign he felt nervous.

"Hey, Duo." Trowa spoke quickly, as he only had until Quatre returned to unleash his curiosity. "When you were roommates, did Quatre sleep all right?"

"Huh?" Duo scrubbed a hand over an itch on his nose. "Yeah? I mean, sure? I was usually up all night, you know, being a total spazz or whatever. Tried to keep quiet for him, though, so. Pretty sure I didn't break his beauty sleep too terribly. Most of the time."

Trowa kept his eyes fixed on the hallway. He saw Quatre check the dryer for whatever specific shirt he wanted to change into before disappearing back into Trowa's room. "He woke everyone last night with some nightmare. He was screaming like… you know."

"Oh," said Duo."Like only a Cutie-Q can. Gotcha. Now that I think about it, yeah. That very first night, you remember? He freaked at med checks and got shot up with tranquilizers, and in the middle of the night he starts thrashing around and hollering. No end-of-the-world shrieking, though. I've just heard him do that the handful of times. Christ on toast, I wish I knew what it was all about. Gets the heebie-jeebies all over me to see him like that."

Trowa waved away the concern, since it matched his perfectly and didn't need to be discussed. With another cautious look to check on Quatre's absence, he said, "Try to get him to actually eat dinner, will you? I can't tell if his head's still bothering him, but…"

Duo gave him a sharp salute. "Can do, Tro. Gimme a ring later if it's all clear, otherwise Quatre can always bunk up in the spare room."

"Right," said Trowa. "That reminds me – any word from Zechs?"

"Oh, yeah," said Duo. "I didn't actually tell you, did I? He swung by Heero's yesterday and got his stuff. Heero said Zechs was with his mother, however the hell she and Heero ever met to swap names, so – uh." Quatre chose that moment to make his appearance, bundled into his jacket with Sandy lumped under his arm. Duo made a much smoother effort than Trowa at not looking guilty at getting caught swapping gossip. "So I guess he'll be all right, or yup. Go figure. Hey! You ready, Quatre?"

Quatre nodded. He approached them and peered anxiously up at Trowa. "Is this really okay?" he asked, whisper-soft. "I can wait for Catherine…"

"It's fine," said Trowa. He hugged Quatre, just briefly enough to hush at him, "I promise."

A smile spread over Quatre's face. "Okay. I'll see you later." They both hesitated, conscious of Duo's presence, before Trowa went ahead and planted a quick kiss on the boy's just-parted lips.

Duo rolled his eyes and made a swift, silent gagging gesture. He swiped the finger away from his mouth before Quatre could see, and the two of them left. Trowa went to the window and watched until they walked out of sight, with Duo hopped up on the curb like a tightrope walker and Quatre right beside him on level ground.

The only thing left to do was wait for Catherine to come home, and Trowa wandered around looking for any little chores he could do to occupy himself. It felt strange to be alone in the apartment. Not alone in a bad way, of course; he never would have promised Quatre unless he was sincere, and with his previous carelessness still marking a vivid reminder over the Quatre's forehead, he was most assuredly sincere. Still, it felt unusual, and the quiet spooked him to the point that Trowa turned on more lights than necessary and ran the television louder than he liked.

Catherine came home just before four o'clock with her arms laden with grocery bags. Trowa heard her key in the lock, so he was already standing near the door when she struggled inside. He took the heaviest ones from her, which made his sister flash him a grateful smile. "There's a few more in the car," she said. Trowa took the keys from her and went down to get them.

When he came back upstairs, Catherine was in the kitchen putting everything away. Trowa joined her and would have lend a hand, but she waved him away with a light scolding. "You'll put it in the wrong spot. I have a system."

Trowa leaned up against the counter as far out of her way as he could. When she was almost finished, Catherine's gaze stuck on him with an unnerving keenness. "Where's Quatre?"

A half-second hesitation kept Trowa from answering. He twitched his shoulders out from a shrug and instead said, "He went to a friend's house."

Catherine's hand moved a jar of spaghetti sauce toward the cabinet in slow-motion, as if she'd almost forgotten its trajectory. "Without you?"

Trowa couldn't stop the shrug or find his voice to elaborate. He crossed his arms over his chest, which felt defensive and likely looked it, but damned if he could stop himself from indulging in old habits. He tucked his head down just enough that his bangs swept forward into a soft, safe shield. It still allowed him to observe Catherine, whose drifting arm finally set the jar of sauce into place. The small remainder of groceries lay abandoned in the bag on the counter, and she made no effort to continue.

"I'm sorry," said his sister. "That was rude of me. It's just..." Her voice trailed off into unspoken accusation. It fell into place between them and took the shape of something that made Trowa's arms itch. He stifled the urge to fidget and once again felt grateful for long sleeves.

"He just left," said Trowa. "I haven't been alone long."

"Oh. No, Trowa, I didn't mean – That really was rude of me. I was just surprised, that's all." Catherine flushed and hastily crammed the last of the groceries into the cabinet. "What about dinner? I thought we could all go out. My treat."

Trowa hunched his shoulders. "He won't be back for dinner."

"Trowa," she said. The well-worn thread of her vast patience carried through each syllable of his name. "Is this because of what I said this morning?"

When Trowa didn't answer, Catherine turned the full of her attention to his end of the kitchen. "You know I wasn't trying to say that Quatre isn't welcome over here. He is, absolutely. It's only – Trowa, you're young. I know, that's a bit hypocritical since I'm not even all that older than you, but that doesn't make it any less true. You're young, and I know this is all very exciting and new for you, being with him, but you can't – You have to think about your future. You have to consider Quatre's family…"

"They know Quatre's safe. He called... a friend of the family." Trowa skipped over the hesitation and hoped she wouldn't point it out. He hadn't entirely followed Quatre's logic about whomever Rashid was, but he understood enough to attempt reassuring Catherine. Trowa dropped his line of sight to the linoleum floor. "If his dad agrees to it, I guess he wouldn't have to go back to the hospital. That's what – that's what he's got planned."

"Where else would he go?" asked Catherine. Her mouth twisted down into a crooked line of fretted concern. "Would he move with us? Go back to his home? I don't know what to think about all this. You saw how he reacted. Something's wrong there. If he's really in such a situation that he can't go home… Trowa, you of all people ought to know—" The quick flash of his gaze stopped her midsentence. Catherine smiled with open apology and continued in a soft, coaxing tone. "I understand why you want to help Quatre, I really do. I'm not trying to be unreasonable."

Trowa weighed the truth of her word during the long, stretching silence that followed. Catherine's patience radiated out at him like tangible heat, soaking into the long lines of his scars. Trowa forced his hands down to his sides, rather than keep them pressed against his chest. "I know," he said quietly.

"I like Quatre, don't get me wrong," said Catherine with a smile. "He's good for you, and he's a good kid. You deserve to be happy, for gosh sake. We'll be able to figure something out. Maybe I can talk to his family. There's no reason why he can't move with us, if that's what the two of you want."

Trowa shrugged. "Maybe." His pulse thudded with sudden daring. "Or I could stay here."

"By yourself?" Catherine's fluff of curls swayed around her face with the strength of her denial. "No, absolutely not. I can't let you do that. I'm responsible for you, remember? And the cost of two apartments? There's no reason for that, and the university is too far for me to commute in for classes. Besides, you've got the GED to take, and once you pass you'll be able to start taking classes there yourself – or if you decide to apply elsewhere, maybe, I'm not saying you have to go to State, but it's a good school. You'll stay with me, that's final."

"I'm eighteen, Cath. I can do what I want." Trowa tried not to sound like such a stupid kid when he said it, but it was one of those phrases that lent itself to sulking so effectively. "You don't have to take of me anymore."

Red dashed across her cheeks, drawn by either embarrassment or anger. She didn't say anything for a long moment, leaving Trowa frozen and slowly overwhelmed with remorse. It had been a careless, cruel thing for him to say, but he felt powerless to reclaim the individual words without losing his voice entirely. Silence wrapped around him in cold misery.

"I never _had_ to take care of you," said Catherine. The terse shortness of her tone ran shivers over the back of Trowa's neck. "When your mother died I could have just as easily let the state take over your well-being. Of course I wouldn't have done that to you, and I'm not trying to say you owe me anything. It's just something you should think about."

"I'm sorry," Trowa rushed to say. "I didn't mean it."

He stepped toward her hesitantly. She held him off with a soft gesture, her hand up to plead distance between them. "Well, it's true, whether you meant it or not. If you and Quatre want to stay here, I can't stop you. Two apartments; why not? We've already got an entire huge house no one's using. Go stay there if you want, or we can renew the lease here in your name – If that's how you want to spend your inheritance, fine. I blew most of mine on clothes and boys without realizing it, and yeah, I wish I'd had someone sit me down and tell me to think about the future. I just don't want you to make the same mistake."

"Catherine... I'm sorry." Trowa swallowed a spiked lump out of his throat.

She tipped a steady look at him, something that was still clinging to anger but only barely. As she searched his face, her eyes softened along with the creased line of her brow. "I don't want us to fight over this. After everything else we've gone through, I don't want this to be the thing that breaks us. Trowa, you are all the family I have, and I've come so close to losing you already." The strength fell out of her voice, leaving it wispy with tumultuous grief.

This time when he reached for her, Catherine returned the embrace readily. She'd been taller than him, not all that long ago, and the heels on her boots nearly brought her back up to that height. She still fell shy of him, and as Trowa hugged her, he fully appreciated his sister's relative frailty. She meant the world to him, same as Quatre, and being caught between them tore him viciously. Catherine gave him a final squeeze and pushed him back some, to turn her face up to him and smile.

"We'll figure something out," she said. "I promise. Now. Are you hungry? There's no reason we couldn't go out, just the two of us, and get something. I don't feel like cooking."

Trowa shrugged, since it didn't matter to him either way. His head was too full of troubles, all tumbling and crashing around in a fury. Catherine wanted one thing, Quatre another, and all he wanted was for the three of them to stay together. That suited him the best, because he desperately did not want to become separated from either one.

Catherine toyed around the apartment for nearly an hour before declaring they really should go out to eat, and then she listed and dismissed several options without any input from Trowa other than a single shrug. He didn't care. Anything that wasn't hospital cafeteria food suited him. At last he could tell the lack of response bothered Catherine, so he made a vested interest to suggest at least a couple of restaurants. They settled at last on Thai food, which Trowa was pretty sure he'd never actually eaten before, and Catherine then wasted another twenty minutes changing her shoes and jewelry.

He called over to Heero's apartment while waiting. Duo answered but turned the phone over to Quatre quick enough.

"Hi, Trowa," came Quatre's soft voice.

"Hi." An involuntary smile pulled at the ends of Trowa's mouth. "I'm going out to eat with Catherine. Is it all right if we come pick you up afterward?"

"Um, okay," said Quatre. "I think. That should be fine. We're just waiting for Heero to get out of the shower before we eat. Duo cooked."

"I didn't set anything on fire!" Duo's shout came over the line with remarkable clarity.

Quatre transferred the information anyway. "He didn't set anything on fire."

Trowa glanced at Catherine's room. "What are you having?"

"Oh, um. What are they called, Duo? What we're eating. The sandwiches. Didn't they have a name? Sloppy joes," he told Trowa. "I've never had one before." Quatre's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "All Duo had to do was heat it up out of a can."

"I also opened the bag of rolls! And I had to microwave the frozen broccoli!" Duo again, shouting to be heard.

"Sounds fun," said Trowa. "But I'll see you in a hour or so?"

"Sure," said Quatre brightly.

They exchanged goodbyes and hung up just as Catherine came out of her room looking pretty much the same as when she went in. She'd swapped her boots for flats, which dropped her height, and that was the only difference Trowa could discern. Apparently Thai food with her brother ranked below lunch with her friends on the fashion scale. Trowa failed to understand the logic behind it. He'd be perfectly comfortable wearing the same thing every day, if he could.

Catherine drove with the radio blasting, as she liked to do, which gave Trowa some breathing room on his ransacked troubles. Sending Quatre off to spend the afternoon with Duo had certainly seemed to cheer him out of the earlier morose mood. Trowa felt heartened by that small victory.

The optimism didn't last long. As soon as they arrived at the restaurant, Trowa made the unsettling discovery that even the quiet and subdued atmosphere full of strangers was simply too much for his recently shattered shell. He followed Catherine to the table out of pure instinct, and then just sat in his seat unable to answer the waiter's query about what he wanted to drink. He wanted water. That's all he had to say; just one word. Trowa could even shrug instead. Shrugs got him out of a lot of complex mute responses. He instead stared at the clenched fists in his lap and struggled to stay afloat in the rising sea of self-loathing. It was a single word. Two syllables.

He couldn't do it.

Catherine jumped to his rescue, same as always. "We'll both just have water," she said swiftly. Once the waiter left, she leaned across the table and whispered, "Trowa? Trowa, look at me."

He couldn't do that either. If he wasn't going to be able to say anything, there was hardly any point in them eating out. Catherine was going to have to sit there and either talk at him, without Trowa responding, or suffer through the awkward, heavy silence. Both options seemed equally terrible to him, now that he'd proven it could be different. Resolution failed to translate into action, however. He could hardly draw breath around the tight lock of his throat.

"Trowa," she said again. "Are you all right?"

One shoulder, up and down. It wasn't much of a shrug, but it would have to work.

"Do you want eat at home instead?"

Somehow Trowa managed to shake his head.

"Maybe we should," said Catherine. "I'm sorry, I didn't think – I should have realized. What were you going to get? When he comes by with the drinks I'll just put the order in to-go."

Trowa shook his head again and tried to be firm about it this time. He dragged the menu off the table and into his lap, as it gave him something to do besides eviscerate his palm with the bite of his nails. The waiter delivered the condensation-slick glasses of ice water, but Catherine didn't give any excuses for them to leave early. She simply thanked him. Trowa flicked a quick glance over the edge of the menu to see that Catherine was seemingly absorbed in looking at the dinner choices.

When it came time to order, Trowa pointed to a menu item at random. He just wanted to eat and leave, but a slow determination filled him that Catherine should at least be able to enjoy a normal night out with her brother. _Normal_ for them meant her talking and him listening, but Catherine didn't say anything. She matched him in silence. It stretched into a blade that worked its way deep into Trowa and bled out from him a slow despair.

Catherine finally spoke as their meal arrived. "Whatever you ordered looks good," she said lightly, as if they weren't both trapped in something tense and terrible. Trowa's dinner ended up being an abundance of thin noodles with pinkish curls of shrimp tossed around in a spicy sauce. It probably should have been delicious, but Trowa ate without tasting the flavors.

The first endeavor into one-sided conversation pleased Catherine well enough that she continued. None of the light banter required an actual response from Trowa, although she left pauses all the same. After a while, however, Catherine's voice drifted to an end. They picked at the last of their food in silence, and then mercifully enough the check arrived so they could leave.

Trowa found his voice again almost as soon as they were alone. With the car locked up and in motion on the dark streets, Trowa found it easy to ask, "Can we pick up Quatre on the way home?"

Catherine shot him a clear look of surprise. Trowa averted his eyes to the window and waited for the mad drum of his pulse to slow. He thought maybe she'd comment on the transition from silence back to speaking, but instead she just quietly said, "That's fine."

Trowa gave her the directions to Heero's apartment. He felt Quatre's absence like a thorn in his side, constantly present with low-grade discomfort that sharpened into agony when provoked. Each passing block that brought them closer together soothed at him, washing away the helpless confusion of his relapse. It didn't make much sense, he knew that. It shouldn't matter who he spoke in front of – if anything, strangers should have been easier to accept than Catherine, from whom he'd hid his voice perhaps longest of all.

Catherine parked in the street, but before she could cut the engine Trowa stopped her. "I'll go get Quatre. It won't take long."

"All right." Catherine pulled her hand off the keys and reached instead for the radio dial.

The security panel buzzed up to the apartment and sent back a cheerful garble of sound interlaced with static. Trowa felt unsure if that meant he should go inside the building or if Quatre would be coming down to meet him. He glanced back to where Catherine waited before trying the door handle. It unlocked and let him through, and he advanced into the small entry hall. When the elevator arrived, however, the doors slid open to reveal Quatre.

"Hi." He flashed a shy smile up at Trowa.

The bundled weight crashed from Trowa's shoulders and left him almost giddy with relief. He drew Quatre out of the elevator and into a crushing hug. The boy fluttered a concerned grip over his arms in baffled response. "Trowa?"

"Catherine's waiting," he said. It wasn't much of an answer to the layered questions in the way Quatre said his name, but it would have to do. Trowa took him by the hand and led him out from the apartment building. Quatre shifted his bear more securely under his arm and followed without fuss.

They engaged in a silly polite battle over who would sit up front versus who would sit in the back, and finally Quatre ended the debate by simply getting into the car over Trowa's considerate objections. He scooted into the middle of the backseat and greeted Catherine quietly. She turned a smile into the rearview mirror at him, and once Trowa buckled into place she pulled the car out from the curb and into motion.

"Did you have fun?" asked Catherine. She looked into the rearview mirror again at Quatre. "With your friend."

"Um? Oh, yes," said Quatre. He hesitated, as if unsure what the correct answer was. "We, ah. I helped him make dinner."

Catherine nodded and murmured, "That's nice."

That was all she offered for the remainder of the drive. Trowa braced for her to twist the conversation into some serious tangent, but the anticipated downward turn never came. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere, likely tangled up in the mess that Trowa made of their dinner. Well, if that was what it took to spare Quatre the brunt of her well-intended curiosity – Trowa tried to consider the sacrifice worth it. Keeping that in mind against the lingering sense of self-loathing fell somewhere along the spectrum of difficult to impossible. What good was he to anyone a partial mute?

Trowa snatched himself away from that line of thinking with a harsh recoil. Neither Catherine nor Quatre deserved him to start thinking like that again, not when he'd already promised Quatre otherwise. A small hiccup, that was all dinner had been. Surely he deserved the right to a slight fumble. They couldn't expect him to surrender his silence that easily, not when it had protected him for so long. Without it, he felt too exposed. Too tender.

Back at the apartment, Trowa tried to think of an excuse to pull Quatre aside without being rude to Catherine. He was still trying to think of one when Quatre caught his hand and gave it the slightest of tugs. Trowa spared a brief glance to where Catherine sat flipping through the channels before answering the unspoken, timid request in Quatre's gaze. They slipped away to the bedroom, and Trowa leaned against the closed door.

Quatre shifted Sandy out from his quasi-hiding place against his side and set the him on the bed. He patted the bear's face with an idle gesture, fingers curling just slightly in a lingering touch before he withdrew his hand. "I talked to Wufei," he announced.

It wasn't at all anything remotely to close to what he expected Quatre to say. Trowa's response took a second to process the seemingly unimportant bit of information. "Oh?" was all he managed, despite the deep consideration.

"Mmhm," said Quatre. He stroked Sandy's face again. "Duo and I called him. He says hi. Oh, but—" He glanced to Trowa. "We didn't tell him. Um. About you."

"Oh," Trowa said.

Quatre unexpectedly paled. "Because I didn't think you'd want us to."

Trowa shrugged. "I guess," he said.

The melancholy that dripped through the sighed response drew Quatre across the short length of the room. He wrapped a hug around Trowa, who still stood guard over the door. "And, um. I was thinking, about Catherine. About what she said. About moving—"

Trowa took Quatre by the shoulders and pushed him away. Bewildered hurt flashed over the boy's features for just a moment, but it vanished in the heartbeat of Trowa pressing close for a kiss. And kept pressing, insistent, as he explored the willing parting of Quatre's mouth against his. Quatre's hands dug into his arm in a slight, kittenish type of kneading action. It matched the small, soft sounds that rolled up out of Quatre's throat and struck against Trowa's calm resolve like a battering ram.

"Mm, Tro—" Quatre tried to speak, but Trowa smothered him with more affection. If there was anything he needed in that moment it was bedroom silence, the kind punctuated only by the irresistibly precious sounds that Quatre made. They weren't even whispers, they were less than that, and each fractional hitch of breath into noise obliterated reason and worry and everything except Quatre. Which was entirely what he wanted, so Trowa set about breaking further objections as much as he could. He abandoned his post by the door to back Quatre toward the bed, leading him with kisses that fell against the hushed, half-gasped repeat of his name.

"Trowa—" Quatre turned his face away with a shuddering intake of breath. "Trowa, _stop_."

It froze Trowa in place. Quatre's hands broke between them to as much push Trowa away as cling to him with a trembling unsteadiness. "Please," said Quatre. The half-fearful fragility of his plea struck Trowa like a slap. "Just – wait a moment. Please."

"Okay," said Trowa quickly. He let go of Quatre as if the boy had caught fire, but then just as urgently took hold of him again when Quatre reacted with a big-eyed, wounded frown. To keep the fine balance between not offending Quatre and being equally careful not to pressure him with unwanted force, Trowa kept his hands loose over the blonde's thin shoulders.

A wavering concern in the endless blue-green of Quatre's eyes pinned Trowa in place. "I'm sorry," he said. "Trowa, I'm sorry. It's not, that is—" He bit down the rest of the stammering excuse with a neat, clipped clench of jaw. Trowa could see the muscle jump around the strain, especially give the absent layer of plush fur that normally got trapped with such a gesture. Sandy's stitched face tipped toward them from the bed in silent accusation.

Trowa shook his head. He nearly rebuked Quatre's apology with an admonishment to the contrary, but that often led to a negative feedback loop in which Quatre kept apologizing until he simply shut down. He equally resisted the urge to kiss Quatre, just one last time, with sweetness and wordless contrition. Trowa stood there, uncomfortably aware of his height as he loomed over the worried look that Quatre offered up at him.

"I'm sorry, Trowa. I just, I wanted to—" Quatre tried to take a small half-step of retreat, but the edge of the bed got in the way. He buckled into the mattress and nearly pulled Trowa down on top of him in the stumbling collapse. Trowa thought only to keep Quatre balanced, or at least prevent him from tumbling further to the floor or against the nightstand. Unfortunately he reached with the same trajectory as Quatre's quick adjustment, and Trowa's well-intended grasp fell against the side of the boy's forehead in a clumsy sweep.

"Ah!" cried Quatre. He slid straight off the mattress and to the floor with a whimper of pain. His hands flapped near his head without actually touching the bruise.

"Sorry," said Trowa. "Oh, Quatre – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – Does it hurt?"

Quatre winced up an agonized frown and said, "N-no, it's okay."

Trowa closed a gentle hand over Quatre's elbow and pulled him up to the bed. He made sure to give Quatre plenty of space as he sat cautiously beside him. "I'm making a mess of things," said Trowa. He couldn't stop disparagement from coloring the words into bitterness.

"No, you're not," said Quatre. Alarm spiked through the quick comfort. "Trowa, you're fine. I just – I wanted to talk to you. It's not that, um, I don't…" Red-faced embarrassment enveloped further explanation.

More talking. To him, at him, around him, about him – Trowa closed his eyes against the sudden wash of exhaustion. When he opened them, the bright, worried kindness in Quatre's eyes had only intensified. The boy offered a small, hopeful smile which Trowa found impossible to return. He took Quatre's hand in his with aching tenderness. "Can it wait?" he asked quietly. "Whatever you want to say. Will you wait? For… just, not tonight."

Round-eyed with concern, Quatre slowly nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "That's fine, Trowa." He glanced to the door. "Um, do you want to watch television with Catherine?"

Trowa did not, in fact, have any particular interest in doing anything other than continuing their earlier momentum. He longed to play his fingers through the soft wisps of Quatre's hair, and he wanted to feel Quatre's heart beat against his. Trowa shrugged an agreement anyway; so long as he at least got to spend time with Quatre, it'd be all right – and, besides, anything was better than _talking_.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Wah! Sorry this is so late. The anime convention blew my productivity, as I expected, but what I didn't expect was to run into a complete Gundam Wing cosplay group. They had all 5 pilots, Zechs and Treize, plus 2 OZ soldiers. They did a skit/lipsynch that was pretty much a live-action AMV and then, are you ready? Here's the best part – they let me take soooo many pictures.

And. And, get this. Zechs and Wufei _kissed_. Just for me. It was amazing.

I'm gradually posting all the pictures to my tumblr (tag: backhandproposal), and my blog is just violetnyte -dot- tumblr

Okay, enough of my squealing. Multiple apologies for the slow update. I'll get hard to work on the next chapter. I'm rounding the corner toward the ending! It's scary and exciting, all at once. Thanks reading; until next time!

Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte


	104. Making Plans

LSC / 11-13-12  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Four: Making Plans)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 104

**Making Plans**

* * *

"What did he say? How'd it go?" Trowa tried and failed to maintain enough patience to actually let Quatre get all the way into the room before pouncing on him with dire curiosity. Forced into bedroom seclusion due to Quatre's plea for privacy, Trowa had nearly worn a patch into the carpet with his frantic pacing between the nightstand and dresser.

Quatre pinned him with a wide-eyed recoil. The cordless phone clutched against his chest squeaked a plastic protest as his grip tightened over it. "Oh, um – What are you doing tomorrow?"

Trowa's heart sank. "Thursday? That's no good; I have therapy, and Catherine works."

"Oh." Quatre pulled the receiver up to his face again. "Rashid? I can't. Friday? Um." He glanced up at Trowa, who shook his head and mouthed _the house_. "I can't. You are? Oh. Is…? Oh." Quatre lowered a crestfallen look to the floor before turning to drift back out from the bedroom.

Trowa itched to follow after him, maybe fold the boy into a warm hug, or rip the phone from his hands and give that Rashid guy a piece of his mind. Not that he would do either of those things, not when he'd promised Quatre to stay in his room for the duration of the phone call.

It'd been his bad idea, more or less. They'd talked it over that morning, after Catherine left for work, with Trowa bounced back from his sullen relapse and ready for round two. At least it was just Quatre, to whom all his words came painlessly if not always easily. He'd been thrilled when Quatre squared his shoulders, breathed in and out with resolute calm, and declare he wanted to move with Trowa and Catherine. That was his big decision, stammered out with reluctance, haltingly qualified with exceptions that only if Trowa and Catherine were okay with it. Whatever advice Duo gave on the matter – Quatre didn't offer the specifics, and Trowa didn't pry – it was plain enough that Trowa owed his braided friend a heart-felt gratitude for tipping the balance in his favor.

Except that left the faltering matter of Catherine, whose willingness to go along with such a plan carried a large caveat. That brought Trowa's bad idea right around to the forefront; he suggested Quatre get Rashid, whom he seemed to trust more than his father, to meet Catherine. When Trowa first suggested it, Quatre went white and statue-still with something that twisted panic and denial together. He was already midway through a recantation when Quatre snapped free of it and insisted otherwise; _No, Trowa – that's a good idea. Rashid, he might go along with that. It's worth a try. _

Hence the phone call, which Trowa wasn't even allowed to overhear. Trowa insisted that Quatre make it clear that _he_ wasn't to be at the meeting – just Rashid and Catherine, with Trowa along as witness and reluctant advocate on Quatre's behalf. Quatre balked at that, but Trowa tossed together a dozen gentle reasons why it was unwise for him to go, and eventually won – the exchange being that Trowa go sit in his room while Quatre made the call to arrange the day and time.

Trowa glanced at the door, which Quatre had left open a crack. He debated sneaking a quick spying ear to the empty space. Just as quickly he quelled the idea and pressed the door secure into its latch. He'd promised Quatre not to eavesdrop. Fortunately for his already broken patience, Quatre returned before much longer. This time he was empty-handed, or at least of everything but Sandy. The plush ear lay clamped between his teeth, leaving the bear to dangle as Quatre peeked into the bedroom.

"Well?" asked Trowa.

Quatre shrugged and shot him a wary look that failed to actually connect. "It'll have to be later," said Quatre. "Rashid and – um, that is, he's leaving town for a while."

"Oh," said Trowa, heavy with disappointment. He rallied quickly, before his gloom could infect Quatre. "That's okay. We can just do it next week. I'll get Catherine's new schedule from her later. She's switching shifts around to free up this weekend."

Quatre nodded and slowly pulled Sandy's ear from his mouth. "I better ask if Duo minds that I come over Friday." He slipped backward from the open doorway, and Trowa followed.

"I thought you'd come with us," Trowa said. Quatre turned to face him with a puzzled little frown in place, and Trowa rushed to clarify. "If you want to go, that is. I imagine we'll stay overnight and drive back Saturday. You can see where I grew up," Trowa added. He tried to sound as if this were an exciting prospect, or at least not the somber one he anticipated. In truth, he desperately wanted Quatre to come along on the excursion, because otherwise it would just be him, Catherine, and a house full of memory.

"Oh, um." Quatre smiled. "Sure. That'd be all right, I suppose. Will Catherine be okay with it?"

Trowa shrugged. "Why not?"

Quatre didn't have an answer, or at least not one that he said aloud. Judging by the troubled look in his eyes, Quatre was thinking of several responses to Trowa's mostly-rhetorical question. Rather than let his thoughts brew into fully formed objections, Trowa gathered the smaller boy up into a sudden, snuggling embrace. Tension jolted over Quatre, same as always when surprised, before he relaxed.

"I was going to call Duo anyway," said Quatre. He tried to wiggle out from Trowa's arms.

Trowa circled a hold over Quatre's waist and lifted him up a few inches, just enough to drag him back against the bedroom door. "Mm, I don't think I'll let you do that." Trowa nuzzled his lips against the back of Quatre's neck, making him scrunch his shoulders together and laugh.

"That tickles," Quatre protested.

"Yeah?" Trowa grinned and ran his hands over Quatre's sides. The light brush of his fingers elicited further soft laughter as Quatre tried to squirm away again. "How's that?" he asked.

"Now you're—heh!" Quatre twisted against Trowa without really putting up much of a fuss, overcome with a sudden, breathless fit of giggling. Trowa slid his hands under Quatre's shirt and redoubled his efforts, plucking a fiendish dance over the exposed skin. Sandy bounced to the floor when his owner's hold gave out under the playful struggle. "Ah! Trowa, n—!"

"Want me to stop?"

Quatre tossed his head and batted at Trowa's hands. "Yes! Ahaha, Trowa!"

"Okay," said Trowa. He stilled his grip against Quatre's side and drew him close. Puffs of breath fell against his lips as Quatre tipped willing up on to his toes to bring their faces together. Trowa held back, mesmerized by the soft, pink-cheeked flush over Quatre's cheeks and the bright depths of his big blue eyes. The stillness of the moment stretched and settled into warmth. Trowa closed the small gap between them let his eyes slide closed, so there was only the feel of Quatre and the small, precious sounds drawn from the back of the boy's throat as Trowa kissed him.

After that it was simple to pull Quatre into the bedroom and offer a distraction from their worries, at least for a while. It was the first chance they'd had to be together in some time, or it certainly felt that way to Trowa, and afterward he wrapped around Quatre and refused to move. He wanted to memorize each heartbeat and the precise rhythmic rise and fall of the boy's chest, and most of all Trowa just wanted the peaceable calm to last forever.

Quatre stretched against Trowa's tight hold. "Mmm, hey," he murmured. He glided a searching hand through the surrounding tumble of discarded blankets. "Can you get up for a second?"

"Why?" Trowa's voice came muffled from against Quatre's chest.

"I can't find Sandy."

Trowa lifted his head just enough to take a quick appraisal of the other boy's expression. He wanted to make sure he could trust the light, unconcerned way that Quatre spoke. Since imminent crisis seemed unlikely, Trowa burrowed tighter against him and said, "He's in the hall. You dropped him earlier."

"Oh," said Quatre. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay." Quatre settled into the bed with a boneless contentment. It wasn't long before he sighed and pushed at Trowa's shoulder with gentle insistence. "I just want to go check."

"I promise he's there," grumbled Trowa. "Give me five more minutes like this."

"You're heavy," said Quatre.

It was a good-natured complaint and delivered with an accompanying affectionate squeeze, so Trowa didn't mind. He shifted anyway, rolling on to his back and pulling Quatre along with the gesture. "There. But now I get _ten_ minutes to keep you from Sandy."

Quatre worked himself upright against Trowa chest and peered at him. The hopelessly tousled halo of his hair stuck up in all directions across the back, where it'd grown long. "Hmmm, I don't know," said Quatre. "He might get jealous."

"Pretty sure I can take your bear in a fight," teased Trowa. "He doesn't seem all that tough."

"I wouldn't let him hear you say that."

"What's he going to do; cuddle me to death?"

"He might," said Quatre. He laughed and pinned Trowa with a sudden, fierce hug. "Or I will!"

Dazzled by the brilliance of Quatre's infectious good mood, Trowa took a moment to respond. He closed a languid kiss to the wide spread of Quatre's smile, which fell into willing motions against Trowa's mouth. The gentle curl of Quatre's hands against his shoulders was at once tender and insistent. Trowa remembered at the last second not to press his forehead into Quatre's as he broke the kiss long enough to whisper, "I love you."

Sweet shyness set a blush across Quatre's cheeks. "I love you, too."

They kissed again, slow and luxurious, and soon the first ten minutes didn't matter. Nor the next, until Trowa couldn't possibly have said how much time actually passed. In the drowsy afterglow, Quatre draped himself partially on a pillow and mostly on Trowa's shoulder. The slow, even whisper of his breath brushed goose-bumps over bare skin as they curled together, quiet and close and sated.

Trowa traced a light caress over the arm Quatre had flung across his chest and then forgotten, judging by the lax, heavy feel of him. "Want me to get Sandy?" he offered.

"Nng—s'fine," mumbled Quatre. He kissed the ridge of Trowa's collarbone before nestling closer. "Stay."

Trowa wasn't about to argue otherwise. He turned his face into the top of Quatre's head and breathed in the soft scent of his hair, clean and spiced with the faint notes of Trowa's conditioner that he kept borrowing. That small indication of their shared life together blossomed a spark of senseless happiness in Trowa.

Eventually Quatre sighed and said, "I guess."

"Hm?" Trowa hadn't been quite asleep, just close to it.

"Sandy." There was a small lift of apology in the way he said the bear's name. Quatre shifted with clumsy, weak-kneed purpose to crawl over Trowa.

Trowa intercepted him with a soft insistence. "I'll go."

"Oh. Thanks." Quatre sat upright and mussed a hand through his hair in vain. He found the edge of the sheet and clutched it against the pale expanse of his chest. A smile broke over his face when Trowa returned with the teddy bear, who'd been in the hall right as promised. "Thanks," he said again.

"Sure. Scoot over; it's cold." Trowa nudged back into the bedding.

Quatre wedged his bear on to the nightstand before resuming the earlier snuggle against Trowa's side. "I'll warm you up."

"How nice of you."

"I try," said Quatre. He flashed a grin at Trowa.

Trowa smiled back and pressed his nose against Quatre's, squishing it down and making him flinch aside with a laugh. "You are," said Trowa.

"Stop it," fussed Quatre. He averted a shy look that struck Trowa as irresistible.

They lay together a while longer in pleasurable silence. Trowa knew ultimately they'd need to get presentable for when Catherine came from home from work. As his stomach considered a grumbling protest, Trowa amended his mental schedule to include lunch.

Quatre sighed. "Hey, Trowa?"

"Yeah?"

"What if it doesn't work out? With Rashid or Catherine."

The delicate wavering quality to the voiced concern deserved more from Trowa than a quick reassurance, although that was certainly his gut reaction in order to salvage the rare untroubled moment between them. "Do you think it won't?" he asked instead.

"I don't know," said Quatre. "I want it to."

"Well, so do I." Trowa hugged him. "What about that deal, or whatever it was, you could make with your dad?"

"No," said Quatre quickly. So hurriedly, in fact, that it jarred a sharp measure of echoing concern in Trowa. Quatre continued, "That won't work now. That's – I don't want to do that. I want to stay here, with you. Or, move with you, I mean – you know what I mean."

"Sure." Trowa agreed even though he felt entirely bewildered by the rapid denial. "I want that, too. I want to be with you."

"Yeah," said Quatre softly. "Together."

"See? Don't worry." Trowa ruffled a hand through the other boy's hair. "Besides, I can always kidnap you for real if it comes down to it."

Quatre bit his lip around a smile. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Trowa said solemnly. He lowered a wolfish grin into Quatre's neck and nipped lightly at the sensitive skin. "I'd take you, and keep you, all for myself."

"That's selfish of you," said Quatre.

Trowa chuckled and ran his hands low across Quatre's back. "Well. I'm a selfish person."

"Mm, I'm not so sure about that."

"Oh?" Trowa pushed lunch even further back in the schedule and set about to showing Quatre exactly how selfish he could be. Oddly enough, neither of them seemed to mind that.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi. Is Wufei there?"

"Nope." The tell-tale smack of bubblegum gave her away better than the bright, lifted quality of her voice. "Give it a minute or two, though. (What're you looking at, pigtails? This call's for me.)"

"Uh – what?"

"Any minute now, seriously. It's kind of cool to watch. I have no idea why she does it, but – Oh, okay, hang on. Let him get his glasses – (Hey, Wufei! Phone for you. Don't worry, it's not _him_.)"

"(What? Oh, thank you.) Yes? Hello? Wufei speaking."

"Yo! Heya, Waffles. How're you?"

"Hello, Maxwell. I am fine, tha—" Wufei's voice broke for a moment, hissing into a whisper before seamlessly rejoining the abandoned statement. "Thank you."

"How was school? Did it suck as much as I suspect? Did you learn anything, or just get subjected to mindless drone brainwash lecturing? I can loan you my crib notes for English; I don't know what you're studying, but I got Heero through the Victorians and those whacky Romantics all right, and I'm pretty sure his first language is actually binary or some shit because he sucks at it."

"My grades are fine. There is no need for that. Unless you are able to explain to me the proper solvent for lithium acetate—"

"Nope. You've gone straight into gibberish. You're such a smart ass, 'Fei. Just one reason to love ya, I guess. What'cha doing tonight, by the way? Want to hang out? Heero doesn't get off work until seven, so I could take the bus over and chill with you for, like, two hours or whatever and still make it back in time to see him."

"I must finish this homework, Maxwell. Perhaps another time."

"That's what you said yesterday. No fair, Woozles, I totally want to see you. I've missed the ever loving fuck out of you! Seriously, Wu, hearts and sunshine all around mushy crap aside, I really was thinking about you a lot. It's awesome that you're this close, you know? I thought you'd got sent off somewhere impossibly far, like the moon or some shit. Fuck Zechs for keeping it secret or whatever. That's messed up. I mean, let's face it – the nearly twenty-four/seven, three-sixty-five overdose on my sparkling presence must be a painful thing to be without."

"Yes," said Wufei quietly. "I suppose. All right, Maxwell. Let me think about it. Oh – I have to go. Someone else needs to use the phone."

"Tell them to fuck off! Okay, okay, fine. Why don't you at least call me later. Like, after you eat dinner. I'll be here. Pining away by the phone for you. Making doe-eyes at it."

"Oh. Yes. I – I suppose I could do that. I could call you."

"You shouldn't sound so surprised about it. What's the matter, did you forget phones work both ways? Like me! Bam, sexuality jokes; I never get tired of them. Wow, I think I actually just _heard_ you roll your eyes at me."

"Perhaps."

"Aha, you're a riot. Okay, talk to you later. Smooches!"

* * *

"How much longer do I have to wait?"

Slow, methodical chewing came over the line in response. "Not long, I guess. Unless she sticks around. (Yo! Pigtails! Stop eavesdropping. I'm talking to my boyfriend.) That'll get rid of her quick. Yup. Nailed it. Okay, here you go. (Hey, Wufei, telephone. It's Duo.)"

"That's an impressive party trick you've – Hiya, 'Fei!"

"Hello, Maxwell."

"Hows'ya! You just missed Quatre, by the way. Try to get out from school faster next time. I called like fifteen minutes ago and got some old dude. Well, I guess not like _old_-old, but moderately aged."

"I told you to call at four. It is only three-forty now."

"Yeah, well. I'm impatient, duh. You should know that about me by now."

"Yes. Well. How is Winner?"

"Fine. Guess he's okay. Everything must have gone all right with Trowa and the head shrink today – that was why he was chilling over here, you know. Anyway, guess he was worried about the whole 'Trowa talk—" Uh. Nope. Sorry, never mind. Brain and mouth are gonna figure out a way to coordinate this shit someday, and looks like today's not the day. Bottom line: he's swell. How are you?"

"Maxwell," said Wufei. "I understood very little of that."

"Good! Glad to know. Just me being stupid as usual."

"Yes. Well. That is unsurprising."

"Haha, fuck you, too, my darling. Did you get that solvent/solution stuff from last night figured out?"

"Yes."

"So, you want to meet me for dinner? My treat. And by that I mean you can come over here and get in on leftovers. Heero made a small mountain of food 'cause he's got these hellish long shifts over the weekend. But, more money, or whatever – you know, I think his boss totally jips him on overtime. But, yeah. Come crash leftover-a-palooza."

"Eat dinner with you and Yuy. Let me think about that."

"Oh, ha-fucking-ha. Get over yourself, 'Fei. Did we already fight enough about that? Whatever. I don't want to stir up bad blood or anything. Well, I'm flat broke, so I can't _buy_ you dinner. I was just trying to be nice."

"Yes. Well. I appreciate that, Maxwell. I am sorry for the undue hostility, in that case. Unfortunately tonight is not convenient for me, but I did want to see if you wished to meet on, say, Saturday. Would that be possible for you?"

"Saturday? Sure! I'll be ridiculously bored otherwise. Quatre and Trowa are going out of town, and Heero works like all damn day. That'd be perfect."

"All right. Yes. I, ah. I will look forward to it."

"That doesn't get you off the hook for calling me back after dinner, you know."

"No. I didn't think it would. All right, then, Maxwell. I will talk to you later."

* * *

"Hey, let me ask you something," she said. "While we wait."

"Do you think your party trick is going to work again? He never called me last night like he was suppose to. I'm guess that's because Wufei left the building, so to speak. I mean, I'm not going to take it to heart as an insult or anything, but still – what the fuck."

"Well, yeah," said Marcy. She rolled her gum into something that snapped over the telephone line. "Kind of what I wanted to ask you about. I figure you've known the guy for a while, right? Ever had a third of him just, you know. Go missing."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Hey, I don't know the technical language for it. I'm not a doctor. So, here's the thing. I'm buddies with Treize. Except I haven't seen him in, no joke, what's got to be nearly a week by now."

"Oh, yeah," said Duo. He hooked his ankle around the bar stool and brought it up under him to sit. "Treize does that sometimes. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"Huh. Well, that sucks. I miss the dude."

"Let me turn the twenty-questions back around on you, then. Have you seen Zechs around at all? He's got this thing with Treize. I didn't know if that was still going on or not."

She laughed, and the clear, bell-like sound was a sharp contrast to the smart-ass way that she talked. Abruptly she stifled the amusement and said, simply, "Nah. Haven't seen him lately."

"Really? Wait. Really?"

"Nope."

"Well. That's, uh. Unexpected."

"Why?" she demanded. "What's that matter to _you_?"

Duo shifted the phone under his chin. "What? Nothing, I guess. Long story. Wufei doesn't want Zechs around, so I figured it was pretty unfair of him to keep targeting Treize like he had been. No offense to your burgeoning friendship with Treize, but he can be exceptionally difficult for Wufei to handle. He's such a flirt, it's almost hilarious, because Wufei is so not like that. Oh, but, I guess that's the whole point of him having a split personality like that."

"I guess," she agreed. "So let me ask you this. How do you feel about—"

"(Marcy, who are you talking to?)"

"(Oh, hey. It's you-know-who. Here, all yours.)"

"Yes, hello, Wufei spe—"

"I figured. Why do you always say it like that?"

"Ah, as charming as ever Maxwell. I'll have you know that—"

"(Hey, Wufei. Don't forget what we talked about. Smile!)"

"(Go away, Marcy. I can manage a simple telephone conversation without your incessant _advice_, thank you.)"

"(Just saying. We still have a lot of work—)"

Wufei managed to work a more secure grip over the mouthpiece, judging by the sudden dampening on Duo's ability to eavesdrop. After a moment he spoke in a normal tone, directly into the phone, "My apologies for the interruption, Maxwell."

"Uh, that's cool. How was school today?"

"I'm sure that in your evaluation it would have been exceptionally dull, but I will say that I did quite well on my Geometry quiz."

"Hey, there you go! You're a genius."

"Well. Not quite."

"Nah, totally are. So, listen, about tomorrow – should I just meet you at your house or whatever?"

"Oh, yes. Ah, no. Let's meet elsewhere. There is a rather distinctive bus stop on 15th street near Hobb. It is painted with an aquatic theme. Does, say, six o'clock work for you?"

"Six? That's kind of late the day. I mean, sure, Heero works forever, but he gets off at seven, and I don't know. You'd be so proud of me, Wuffy, I'm starting to pull a nine-to-five of my own puttering around this stupid apartment like Mrs. Beaver or whatever. I ought to get a pair of fuck-me pumps and vacuum in them just for the laughs. Anyway, why not meet earlier? Why don't you come over here, so we can eat lunch and gab?"

"Ah," said Wufei, in a precise kind of way. "Yes. Well. I see your point. Still, I would prefer if we – That is to say, I would like to – Maxwell. I will be purchasing dinner for you. I have, ah, things to do in the afternoon, so evening would really work best. Surely you can be separated from Yuy long enough to have dinner with me, yes?"

"Oh, sweet. Yeah, sure. You don't have to do that. Buy me dinner, that is."

"Yes, well. I am aware of that fact. So, six o'clock?"

"Sure. Six, tomorrow, bus stop covered in fish, got it. Heh! It's a date."

"Ah. Well. I don't – suppose, all right. Goodbye, Maxwell."

"Yup. See you tomorrow, Waffles."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

More trivia! In the earliest draft of this story, the whole thing was set from Duo's first-person point-of-view. Obviously I dropped that idea fast once I started to flesh out more of the story, but I still have material from this early concept.

Um, that's all. I'll get back to writing! Thanks for reading, as always.

copyright 2012 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr


	105. Home

LSC / 3-12-13  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Five: Home)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 105

**Home**

* * *

Quatre sat in the middle of the long bench seat in the moving van that Catherine had rented. She drove with the radio going, as usual, and the volume tipped up into the silence when it'd become clear neither Trowa nor Quatre were going to entertain her with conversation. She'd tried a few faltering topics on their way out from the city, but Quatre mumbled his responses with enough reluctance that eventually she let it drop.

Trowa hadn't spoken in some time. Quatre tried not to worry about the reticent silence, but surely it wasn't a coincidence that he hadn't said a word since coming back from Thursday's therapy session. Trowa had, in fact, gone straight into his room and closed the door with enough force that the slam reverberated around the small apartment. Quatre had been sitting on the sofa waiting for their return, and rather than pester Trowa with concern he stayed there all the way through to dinner. Catherine chewed her lip and fretted to Quatre that she'd double and triple checked to Trowa that it was okay she tell the doctor about Trowa's newly revealed voice. Quatre just shrugged. There wasn't much he could say to her for comfort.

When Trowa emerged for dinner, he seemed shamed-face about the outburst, as muted as it was. Quatre and Catherine both pretended like everything was perfectly normal, like Trowa's eyes weren't lined with red or his cheeks blotched and streaked. It couldn't be easy for Trowa to have his secrets ripped open.

So it came as a surprise, around the ninety-minute mark, when Trowa suddenly nudged Quatre and pointed out the window. He'd had his head tipped against the glass the whole ride. Quatre hadn't thought he'd actually been watching the scenery.

Quatre leaned across Trowa's lap to peer out at the passing stretch of highway. "What? I don't….?"

Trowa pointed a bit more insistently and then, abruptly, spoke. "That cloud looks like a duck."

"What?" Quatre was so startled by the words that he missed their meaning. Trowa flinched as if only recalling that he hadn't been speaking. It was clearly too late to take back either the words themselves or the breathless shock in Quatre's response.

Catherine leaned forward as well. "I think it looks like a swan." She did a much better job than Quatre of concealing her surprise. Or, unlike him, she hadn't been sitting in a vortex of worry and stress about Trowa's silence. She'd had nearly nine years to adjust. To her, maybe, Trowa speaking at all was the greater shock. To Quatre, however, the smooth velvet of Trowa's voice was like water in a parched desert. He felt worn out and empty without it.

"I guess," said Trowa. His face softened. It wasn't quite a smile, but Quatre's heart warmed all the same. He found Trowa's hand between the seats and squeezed.

It wasn't long after that when Catherine stopped to stretch her legs under the pretense of buying a soda. Quatre hopped down from the cab of the trunk as well, but his legs had gone numb after being crammed awkwardly between the seats. Trowa caught him out of a stumble.

"Ugh, I hate riding in a car," said Quatre. He glanced nervously to where Sandy still sat on the seats as they walked toward the gas station.

Trowa's hand brushed his briefly in a gesture of comfort. "Do you get car sick?"

Quatre shook his head. "No, just bored."

"Oh." Trowa frowned in such a way that Quatre had cause to regret his off-hand remark. He hadn't meant to sound accusatory, like Trowa should have participated more in Catherine's faltering attempts at conversation. Before he could apologize, they were inside the gas station and surrounded by strangers. The opportunity had been lost.

Rejuvenated by the soda and the earlier debate over the cloud, Catherine restarted an attempted at talking rather than crank the radio. Trowa, perhaps prompted by Quatre's unintentional slight, put forth a weak effort to debate the merits of diet soda versus regular. It didn't make for the most stimulating of conversations, but it got them through the blank stretch of highway until a billboard prompted Catherine's next tangent.

The easy back and forth of banality didn't leave Quatre much to do except listen and occasionally pipe in with his opinion. The rest of the drive went quickly, and soon Catherine pulled them off the highway just shy of the actual city suburbs. The road wound lazily through thick forest spliced with jutting openings for housing additions or, more frequently, solitary driveways. Eventually she slowed to turn, and Quatre realized they'd arrived.

The curving bend of the driveway obscured everything from view except a long row of trees. Once the road bent around the other way, Quatre caught a glance of the impressive house itself and marveled. With the white columns supporting the front portico and the broad sweep of the windows, it managed to look stately and refined despite the slight tinge of neglect. The yard looked to have been trimmed a bit too long ago, so Catherine must have made arrangements for someone to care take of the property while she and Trowa lived elsewhere. The big house reminded Quatre uncomfortably of his own family, and he glanced at Trowa only to see a resigned, sullen expression on the other boy's face.

Catherine popped out of the driver's seat and stretched her arms up with a contented sigh. "Oh, that's a long drive! I'm so glad I moved. There's no way I'd have wanted to that twice a week to—" Her eyes cut to Trowa as she fell silent rather than mention the hospital. The meaning was nevertheless clear.

Trowa pretended not to notice as he offered a chivalrous hand down from the lifted cab of the moving truck. Quatre flashed him a quiet smile of gratitude before turning his attention on the impressive facade of the house.

"Is this where you grew up?" he asked Catherine.

"Yup." Catherine led the way up to the wide front doors. She dug her key ring out of her bag and began looping through her options to find the correct key. "My dad bought this house after him and my mom split. I was just a baby at the time, so, pretty much my whole life. I guess that's why I can't bring myself to sell it, either."

The interior of the house overwhelmed Quatre with the strange miasma of neglect. A light accumulation of dust coated nearly every surface. White sheets masked most of the furniture with a haunted emptiness. Trowa turned a dispassionate look around at his former home, and Quatre longed to pester him with unwanted concern. He bit Sandy's ear instead.

"Might as well get the hard work out of the way," said Catherine. "Go upstairs and pick out a bed I guess. Yours and mine are both gone obviously, but one of the guest rooms should have something."

"And a lamp," said Quatre. He hoped to elicit a smile from Trowa. The other boy just shrugged and started up the stairs. Quatre trailed after him feeling a bit out of place; was he supposed to follow? Maybe Trowa wanted to be alone. Maybe Quatre should help Catherine with whatever it was she vanished into the house to accomplish. Except, he could no longer see her, and something told him that if he wandered too far into the dusty grandeur he might not find his way out again.

Trowa stopped at the top of the stairs. He took Quatre's hand in his and pulled him close with a suddenness that seemed out of place. "I'm glad you came." The smooth velvet of his voice seemed worn and threadbare.

Quatre readily wrapped his arms tight over Trowa's shoulders and squeezed. "Me too."

The taller boy dipped his face into the crook of Quatre's neck. He breathed deep, inhaling whatever hopefully pleasant scent he found there. After a moment he straightened and moved away from the stairs. He kept hold of Quatre's hand.

The doors that stretched along the hall were closed. Trowa walked with a purpose to almost the very end and pushed into one of the rooms. The overhead light revealed a simple arrangement of bedroom furniture covered in white for storage. Trowa crossed to the bed and led Quatre right along with him.

"What're you—?" Quatre started the question as Trowa flopped across the bare mattress. The actual sheets had been stripped from the bed, leaving only the dingy protective one to protect the soft pillow top. The springs creaked a protest with Trowa's bouncing weight. Trowa tugged their joined hands, and Quatre lost the question as he tumbled across the bed.

Trowa gathered the small blond into his arms. While still holding Quatre in gentle captivity, he rolled back and forth across the expanse of the mattress. Dust rose from the white sheet and made them both cough. It made Quatre laugh slightly as he squirmed free of Trowa.

"I guess this one's big enough," said Trowa. He stared up at the ceiling with a sideways type of smile.

Quatre studied the sweeping line of the headboard. The sheet had slipped down to expose the sheen of polished wood. "I like it."

"Good."

"Did you want to look at the others? You know. For options."

"No." Trowa sat up and regarded the rest of the lumped, white-covered furniture. "I just want this over with. I hate it here." He could just as easily been discussing the weather, so flat and empty were the words.

"Oh." Quatre wasn't sure what else he could say. "Okay."

Trowa shrugged with dangerous disregard. He started to abandon the bed, but Quatre snatched him back with an abruptly flash of fear. Concern bled out into the slight tremble of his hands as he draped himself over Trowa's back. Something must have come through in the hug, because Trowa clasped his hands over Quatre's and leaned readily into the embrace.

"Thanks," Trowa said quietly. "But I'm okay."

Quatre eased around to sit beside Trowa on the edge of the bed. He plucked at Sandy's eye. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"Yeah." Trowa must have heard something of a question in Quatre's attempted reassurance.

"So you only have to be here a little while."

Trowa's eyes smiled without the rest of his face following the gesture, and he ruffled a hand through Quatre's hair. "I know."

"Okay." Quatre bit his lip.

"It's fine," said Trowa. He cast a long, baleful look around the room. "I do hate this place, but that's okay. I'll try to remember the good instead."

"Like what?"

Trowa cupped the side of Quatre's face and kissed him, slow and tender. When they parted, the whole of Trowa's face was smiling. "Like you. Like this. Just being here with you."

"Oh." Heat flooded Quatre's face. He looked down at Sandy and nudged closer to Trowa. "Okay."

A slight chuckle reverberated out of Trowa's chest and into Quatre's, filling him with warmth. Trowa put an arm around him and drew the smaller boy close against his side. They sat there for a while until the sound of Catherine's voice calling for them drifted down the hall.

She'd brought a small tool box and, when Trowa pointed at the bed he wanted, the two of them set about dismantling it. Quatre was assigned the simpler task of fetching the bed's sheets out of the linen closet at the other end of the hall. While Trowa and his sister lugged downstairs the wood and steel brackets and sections of bed frame, Quatre followed burdened with mounds of clean, soft bedding. When he offered to help carry some of the heavier things, Trowa sent him to hold open doors instead. Trowa's gaze stuck on the still-tender lump that crested Quatre's forehead whenever he redirected the boy's assistance. It made him feel embarrassed and happy in turns to have Trowa concerned for him.

Between the two of them, Trowa and Catherine managed to get even the bulky box spring down the stairs and into the back of the moving van. Despite the chill in the air, the two of them huffed and sweated by the time the task was done. Quatre had successfully wandered off to find the kitchen, so he was able to offer cold water to soothe their efforts.

"Thanks," said Catherine. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "I have no idea how we'll get that actually into your room once we get back home."

Something strange crossed Trowa's face at her words. Quatre only caught a small flash of it before blank stoicism reclaimed him. "We'll manage," he said.

"Did you find a bookcase and lamp?"

"Not yet." Trowa drained his glass of water.

"Well, once you catch your breath, go look."

Trowa shrugged and said nothing. After a while he pushed off from the side of the van. Quatre followed him into the house, but rather than go upstairs, Trowa drifted further into the depths of the first floor. They passed rooms full of shadows and white-sheeted lumps that Quatre could only guess at, and then eventually arrived in what was certainly an office. Towering built-in shelves wrapped one wall entirely in leather-bound books, and the lumps of covered furniture had to be a desk and chair. Another chair sat near the books beside a spindly table, and it and the table both were not covered.

Quatre glanced around. "I don't think these can go in the moving van."

"Hm?" Trowa was at the desk pulling open drawers.

Quatre pointed. "The bookcases."

"Oh." He straightened for a moment and then shook his head. "I know that."

"Well, no, I—I know that, I was just…" Quatre faltered into silence. He pulled Sandy up under his chin and looked around the room again. There was a framed picture on the table, and he cautiously crept toward it without Trowa noticing. Dust crunched against his fingertips as Quatre picked up the photo. It was clearly a young Catherine, maybe about eight years old, in a fluffy floral-print dress holding a white Easter basket. Two small rabbits poked their noses and ears up from the edge of the wicker basket, and Catherine beamed up at the photographer with evident joy.

The desk drawer slamming shut startled him enough that Quatre fumbled the picture. It bounced dangerously between his grasp before settling into a clutch against his chest. Trowa stood at the desk holding a heavy brass reading lamp with a swiveling jade-green head. Quatre hastily set the picture back down on to the table.

Trowa made quick work of finding a bookcase in one of the upstairs rooms. Judging by the childish sports-themed border and the tension in Trowa's shoulders, it was his old room. Quatre stayed in the doorway and resisted the urge to trespass with every fiber of his being. Trowa handed him the lamp so as to grab the bookcase. It was a small thing, hardly more than two shallow shelves, but Trowa had to clear some lingering possessions from it first. A few toys and books fell to the floor with a sweep of Trowa's hand; he seemed unconcerned with either looking at them or setting them anywhere other than in a disorderly pile on the blue carpet. He hefted the bookcase easily and nodded to Quatre.

As they turned to leave, a popped open shoebox caught Quatre's eye. It had been sitting on top of the bookcase, but now the contents spilled out on to the floor like neon autumn leaves. It was several dozen letters written on brightly hued stationary. Large, curling script coated the pages. Quatre glanced at Trowa and checked his curiosity with firm resolution.

Downstairs once more, they found Catherine wrestling a massive leopard-print beanbag chair through the doorway. Catching sight of them, she called out, "Look what I found!"

Trowa set the bookcase down long enough to help her push the overstuffed monstrosity through the front doors and outside. "Is it yours?"

"Yeah! I had it in my dorm in high school. I'd forgotten all about it. It can go in that big empty section where we're supposed to have a dining room table."

Trowa steadied his sister as she clamored up into the moving van. She dragged the beanbag up after her. "What about when we move?"

"Trowa, this is a classic of home décor. Don't be so snobby about it. Hand me that lamp, Quatre. I can cushion it up against this thing."

Obligingly he passed the lamp up to Catherine. She wedged it safely between the beanbag and the mattress. Trowa added the bookcase to the small accumulation of furniture and then helped Catherine hop down from the loading hatch. She pulled the door shut and then dusted off her hands with a satisfied sigh.

"Done and done! That didn't take nearly as long as I feared." She shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun and stared up at the house. "What do you say, kids? Grab dinner in town and then bail? I feel like I could do the drive again tonight if it meant my own stupid bed at the end of it. I forgot how lonely the house is all closed up like this."

Trowa shrugged. Only the slack lines around his mouth betrayed the sudden wash of relief that Quatre knew him to be feeling. He dared to brush his fingers against the back of Trowa's hand.

"Then it's decided." Catherine swung her keys into her palm with a dull thwack. "You guys can sit in the truck. I'll lock up."

Quatre hooked a foot into the lifted cab and boosted himself into the long bench seat. Trowa caught his hand and kept from scooting all the way over the middle. He waited patiently as unspoken thoughts tumbled over the older boy's face. At last he released Quatre and joined him in the van. Whatever he'd wanted to say, it was gone. They sat in companionable quiet until Catherine returned.

At the end of the driveway, Trowa spoke. "I can drive, if you're tired." He was looking out the window again, just as moody as when they'd first left, but this time he wasn't brandishing silence like a shield to cut them out.

"Maybe after we eat," said Catherine. "That might be nice."

Rather than head back on to highway, Catherine took them deeper into the suburban twists and turns of planned divisions. Slowly more and more houses lumped up against the road. They turned on to a wider, busier section of street that was lined with a convoluted snarl of big box stores and strip malls. The places had idyllic names like Windmere Crossing and Deerfield Shops. Trowa glared at them as if personally affronted by the affluence.

After some small debate, they settled on pizza, and Catherine found a shopping center with adequate parking for the bulky moving van. Quatre debated mentally with himself for a terribly long time before leaving Sandy in the seat. The teddy bear's stitched face gazed placidly out at him without judgment as the door slammed shut, so maybe it was okay. Trowa found his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as if aware of Quatre's longing. It was definitely okay then, because Trowa was worlds better than any silly bear.

They dropped their hands apart before following Catherine across the lot. Her sneakers beat against the pavement with a cheery sort of energy; her good mood seemed infectious, and it shook Trowa out of his gloom by the time they settled into a corner booth. The moving van was just visible in the window, which reassured Quatre even if he couldn't actually see Sandy.

"Are you sure about driving back?" asked Catherine.

Trowa nodded.

She grinned and ordered a beer when the waitress came around. "Pizza and beer is traditional moving food," she explained.

A strange look crossed Trowa's face. His brow squiggled with it and the line of his mouth pulled down, but Quatre couldn't decide if he looked amused or perplexed. Maybe something in between. Catherine noticed as well, but she didn't say anything until the waitress returned with the beer and water for the boys.

"What's got you looking like you've swallowed a frog?" asked Catherine.

Trowa shrugged, and then spoke with an almost apology in his tone. "I forgot you were old enough to order beer."

"Well, yeah." Catherine grinned and gave the fluff of her hair a slight toss. "Funny how that novelty wears off though. Do you remember that time I snuck an entire bottle of wine into my dorm? Amanda and I thought we were being such rebels with our Arbor Mist."

Trowa actually rolled his eyes. "You said Bryce gave you it."

"He did, but I didn't tell Amanda that." Catherine laughed. "What kind of dork picks up high school girls using cheap table wine? I can't believe I ever thought he was cool."

"You said he was a scumbag."

"Did I?" Catherine looked surprised.

Trowa dropped his shoulder with a slight shrug. "I was glad you didn't go to Europe with him."

"Aw, big bro." Catherine looked on the verge of saying something more in the same light, teasing tone, but she lost it with an abrupt pinkish flush. She picked at the paper label on the beer bottle. "Yeah, me too," she said at last. A small huskiness broke into her voice. "I didn't think you read my letters."

Now Trowa matched her awkwardness. They'd accidentally blundered into sentimentalism. Quatre felt like a horrible eavesdropper for sitting there, frozen, like if maybe he didn't move they wouldn't notice his intrusion.

"I read them," said Trowa slowly. "I liked getting your letters."

"Oh. Good." Catherine looked up with a small smile. "You never wrote back."

Trowa shrugged.

"Oh, but, that's okay," she said quickly. "I mean, I know why you didn't. I never expected you to."

Tension slipped from Trowa's shoulders, and he nodded. Catherine rushed to gloss over the difficulty by snatching up one of the menus. "What kind of pizza do you like, Quatre?"

"Oh, um." He hastened to grab one of the menus as well. "Anything's fine."

Rather than claim his own menu, Trowa leaned against Quatre's shoulder. Their hands joined under the table, between the close press of their thighs, and warmth fluttered up into Quatre's chest. Neither of the siblings said anything more about the letters or whatever other unpleasant memories lurked for Trowa within the big, empty house they'd left behind. Quatre could understand perfectly, perhaps too well, and sudden longing for Catherine's small apartment in the city filled him. They'd be home soon enough, and the idea that Quatre thought of Catherine's apartment as _home_ was something of a shock.

Quatre nearly blurted out his surprise right there at the table. He didn't, of course. It wouldn't make any sense for him to. The idea churned around and around in his stomach like something fizzy and wonderful. It left no room for anything more to eat, so he set aside the half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. Home. He had somewhere to call home.

* * *

Trowa hated everything about the three-hour drive to his hometown. He hated the rental truck's musty interior that smelled faintly of old smoke and engine oil. The seat cushion contained a rough patch over a split seam, and the hard plastic of the dashboard was cracked in such a way that the glove box gaped open slightly. It banged against his knee at potholes. He hated the pull of the seat belt across his chest and the way it slightly twisted no matter how much he readjusted it. The passing landscape, flat and dull, board him in a way that seemed hostile, and Trowa hated himself for being a contributing cause to the unnerving absence of conversation.

All the inconsequential irritants paled in comparison to the actual cause of his disquiet, which was the destination itself. Catherine drove cheerily and resolutely down the highway to a place Trowa would just as rather forget. At least Quatre was with him. Every time Catherine tried to breach open the silence, Quatre would flash his big, worried blue eyes at him. It was an offhand but suddenly intense worry, like remembering to have left the oven on.

The weight of silence hung heavy around his neck. He knew he hadn't said anything for a while. The night before, lying in bed and looking up at the ceiling, he'd whispered goodnight to Quatre. By the answering hush of soft breathing, the other boy had surely fallen asleep. It wasn't fair of him, especially after having begged Quatre to come along on the pointless adventure, so Trowa made a valiant effort to act normal. Or, to talk, which might not have been necessarily normal for him, but it was what they expected.

After all, the reason for Trowa's miserable mood was greater than just revisiting his childhood home, and it wasn't fair for him to hold that against either Catherine or Quatre. It wasn't like anything had happened in therapy other than what he expected. He was the one who made the monumental mistake in telling Catherine to go ahead with revealing the "big news" that he could, in fact, talk. Finding indifference in therapy became a great deal harder when everyone knew he could say something. He couldn't just ignore questions by staring at the wall.

_Is this true? _asked his doctor.

_Yeah_, said Trowa.

_Why_?

He'd shrugged, because he didn't have the answers, and that'd been the end of things. Catherine graciously stepped in to fill the hour's worth of session with her own feelings, since Trowa once again failed to provide his. Maybe if he asked nicely, Catherine would let him skip therapy next time.

Actually being in the big house was nowhere near as terrible as he'd imagined. With the sheets thrown over everything and half the things missing, it seemed more like a dream than reality. Nothing quite matched his memories. All the same, he was glad to leave, and gladder still that Catherine wanted to head back immediately rather than spend the night. He'd volunteered to drive without hesitation. Anything to get away from the place he hated; he'd crawl back to the apartment if he needed. Even the hospital or boarding school seemed preferable to one minute longer in the oppressive terror. He half expected the scent of his mother's perfume to seep through the patina of dust, or maybe the sound of her cold little voice to echo through the empty rooms.

As they stood in the restaurant waiting to leave, Quatre plucked at his sleeve. Trowa looked at him expectantly and got a shy smile for the trouble.

"Can I have the keys?"

Catherine had surrendered them to Trowa before disappearing into the restroom. He tipped a questioning look at Quatre before remembering to find his voice. "Why?"

"Oh. Um, no reason." Quatre glanced nervously toward the parking lot, and then to the little hallway near the kitchen where Catherine had gone.

Trowa recalled the teddy bear sitting in the cab of the moving van. He immediately offered the keys to Quatre. The small blond flashed a grateful smile as he plucked the dolphin-shaped key ring from Trowa. "Thanks." He hesitated, though, fingers curled to Trowa's wrist with reluctance.

"I'll wait for Catherine," said Trowa. "Don't worry about it."

Quatre nodded and whirled away with an urgency that betrayed his eagerness to rejoin Sandy. Trowa settled his weight against the wall. Catherine was probably fluffing her hair in the silly way that girls preened for even the smallest occasions, like a dull three-hour drive with her little brother and his boyfriend. Well, that was all right. He didn't need the last dredges of twilight anyway; it'd be a dark drive no matter when they left. Just so long as they did leave, that's all he cared about.

Catherine emerged from the bathroom with a fresh pink gloss over her lips. She had been preening, just as Trowa suspected. Something like an indulgent smile twisted the corner of his mouth. Catherine noticed and smiled back, cautiously, unaware of the joke.

"Where's Quatre?"

Trowa pulled his head toward the door and then once again remembered to speak. "In the truck."

His sister's smile widened. Maybe she noticed the belated way he answered and appreciate the shift out from nonverbal responses. Maybe Trowa could get everyone accustomed enough to hearing him speak that he wouldn't feel so much like a performing elephant when it happened. He could nod and shrug and shake his head with gleeful abandon without it seeming like a relapse. Just because he _could_ talk didn't mean he always _wanted_ to; sometimes words weren't necessary.

Catherine snagged a peppermint from the hostess table on the way out. She crumpled the wrapper into her pocket as Trowa held the door for her. She started to say something. Her eyes lifted to Trowa, but then just as quickly cut across the parking lot. They both noticed it at the same time, with the same frozen kind of reaction.

The bright beam of the security lights cut the darkness and cast a myriad of strange half-shadows over the scene. Quatre stood halfway between the restaurant and the moving van at the far end of the lot, and he wasn't alone. Two women were with him, one flaxen blond and one a curly-haired brunette. Evident even from the distance at which Trowa and Catherine stood was the fact they were having some kind of argument. They faced each other with animated expressions and frenetic gestures, although the brunette's range of motion was limited by the fact she held tight to Quatre's arm. The rise and fall of their voices barely carried over the nearby drift of traffic.

Catherine must have said something, but he registered only the worried float of her voice. The actual content of her words was lost to the pounding fear that gripped him at the sight of the locked-up terror on Quatre's face. He took off across the parking lot at a dead run. A car nearly backed up into him. Trowa dodged around the bumper as the brake lights flared with the driver's panicked stop. Behind him, Catherine shouted.

Trowa shouted, too. "_Let him go_!"

The women continued for a moment longer. It wasn't until Trowa burst up on them that they registered themselves as the intended target of the shouting. "Let him go!" Trowa repeated. He reached and found Quatre's other arm.

The brunette stared at him but did not release Quatre. The other woman said, "You've scared him, look," as if Quatre were some stray they were trying to coax out from under a dumpster.

Fear and relief burst over Quatre's face like a firework display. Trowa had dreaded the worst, but up close he could see that, although afraid, Quatre hadn't succumbed to full-fledged panic. His round-eyed gaze shot between Trowa and the women with dizzying speed.

"Who are you?" Still she did not let go of Quatre, even as the boy fought against her. He did so in arresting fits. He'd pull, start to get resistance, and go slack. Trowa realized that Quatre was only barely able to stay calm that way, and the urgency drove him into fury.

"Who are _you_?" Trowa demanded in return. He was taller than either of them. Rather than tug-of-war her for Quatre, Trowa closed his hand over her wrist with a dangerous, glimmering snarl. "Let him go."

Catherine reached them with a desperate cry. "Trowa, stop!" She fell against him and into the dissolving chaos.

Neither of the women looked much older than Catherine, although the thick polish of makeup made it almost impossible for Trowa to guess. The fair-haired one spoke, "Everyone calm down. Lola, let him go. You know how he hates it. You're lucky he hasn't already started shrieking."

The brunette released Quatre with a harrumphing sound of annoyance. Immediately Quatre spun into Trowa and clutched at him with soft, frantic whimpers. Shivers rattled through his slight frame, and Trowa gratefully wrapped him close. He glared at the women.

They stared back at him with mirrored dumbfounded looks. Abruptly Trowa realized that, despite the different hair colors, they were twins. Makeup tried to ruin everything once again, but the similarity of their features went beyond mere resemblance. When Trowa looked closely he could see tell-tale fair roots. The blonde one, actually, looked a lot like an older, feminine version of—Trowa's heart sunk straight down to the pavement.

"Look, who _are_ you?" said the blonde. "How do you know Quatre? What are you doing with him?"

"And where have you been?" snapped the brunette. She fixed a cross look on the small lump that Quatre made as he huddled against Trowa.

Catherine put herself between the two groups. "We're friends of his," she said. She managed to smile, the only cheerful face among them. "I'm Catherine, and this is my brother, Trowa."

Her politeness took some of the anger out of the women's faces. Except the brunette, who still huffed at Quatre with evident frustration. The blonde spoke for them both. "I'm Cora, she's Lola, and _he_—" she pointed at Quatre with emphasis, "is our brother."

Trowa's heart made a weak flopping, like a fish on land, before stuttering to a halt. It was as he feared. They two of them had the same roundness to their faces, although neither possessed any of Quatre's gentleness. Especially Lola, the dark-haired one, who Trowa hated at once with an all-consuming pettiness.

Catherine shot him an anxious _oh-no_ type of look before facing the women again. "Your brother?" she repeated, breathlessly, just as stunned as Trowa.

"Yes," said Cora. "Now what are you doing with him?"

"Where have you been?" demanded Lola, in the same angry way. "Do you have any idea how worried sick we've been?" She certainly didn't sound sincere, but Trowa couldn't help but note the stricken look that crossed Catherine's face all the same.

His sister cast another pleading glance at Trowa before saying, "Quatre's been staying with us."

"Well," Cora shifted her purse along her arm. There was a slight awkwardness in the way she looked at Quatre, as if unsure of what to do with him. It was the same sort of look one gave an unexpected and unwanted present, like plain white socks at Christmas. "Thanks for taking care of him, I guess. Come on, Quatre. Let's go."

Quatre squeezed Trowa tighter and shook his head. She advanced. Trowa retreated, dragging Quatre with him. He wasn't afraid of them. He was taller, and by the looks of their strappy heels, faster. He and Quatre both were wearing sensible sneakers, Catherine too for once. She'd forgone her usual pretty shoes for a well-worn pair of black-and-white sneakers with colorful ribbon laces. That confidence gave Trowa the strength to say, "He doesn't want to."

Lola rolled her eyes. "Of course he doesn't. When has he ever wanted to follow the rules? He's nothing but trouble."

"Don't be so mean," said the other. "You know he's sick." She spoke as if Quatre weren't three feet from her, shaking at their cruelty.

"Oh, he just likes the attention. Come on, Quatre," Lola lifted her voice as if calling to a wayward dog.

Quatre's head jerked up from the tight press of Trowa's shoulder. He swiveled a wide-eyed look at his sisters and then, pleadingly, up at Trowa. White showed all around the aquamarine of his eyes. His fingers dug into Trowa's back hard enough that it actually hurt.

"Quatre!" Now it was Cora snapping orders. "Get over here, _now_."

He flinched and broke from Trowa. The fear left his face but left behind a strange emptiness. Something nagged at Trowa until the memory connected; he'd seen Quatre shut down into himself like this before, at the hospital, and it wasn't exactly a relief to see it again now. Quatre shrugged out of Trowa's arms and drifted over to stand beside his sisters. He stood there, obedient and docile, vacant as a doll with glass eyes. The downward cast of his face was heartbreak.

"Let's talk about this," said Catherine. "Let's be reasonable."

Lola tossed her head. "What's there to talk about? He's coming with us and that's final."

"But where will you take him?" asked Catherine. A strong note of alarm carried into her voice, and Trowa felt a fierce, grateful rush of affection. It nearly drowned in the rest of his torrential emotions. Terrible things were happening to him at the sight of Quatre, timid in the shadow of his sisters, separated from him – about to leave. _Gone_. Only Catherine's steadying hand on his arm kept Trowa from rushing forward to reclaim Quatre. It wasn't much of a restraint. His own numb shock was greater than her gentle hold. It rooted him in place with shameful cowardice.

"Home," snapped the sisters in unison. "Where he belongs."

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Did everyone have a good Christmas and New Year? I moved away to start a new job, and it's been a bit hectic trying to get my life back in order. Also, I'll confess, I've been cheating on you with my original novel. My sincere apologies for the extreme delay.

I'll work hard on the next update. My new job means that I have a lot time and energy to devote to writing, which is very nice. Thank you in advance for the kind encouragement and sticking with me through this whole crazy adventure. Today marks the 9th year of this story. That is somewhat impossible for me to believe!

copyright 2013 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. BL-related goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
check the tumblr tag #fly on broken wings or #violetnyte


	106. Desperation

LSC / 3-13-13  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Six: Desperation)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 106

**Desperation**

* * *

For a long time, Trowa sat in the cab of a musty moving van and clutched a cream-colored teddy bear with dark paws. He couldn't focus on any particular thought besides the warning bell crashes of panic and anger; _gone, they took him, gone, _Quatre was_ gone_. At some point Catherine tried to stick the key in the engine, but Trowa fussed at her with such broken incoherence that she jerked the keys into her lap and rebuked him with wide-eyed silence.

At last Trowa found actual words rather than kicked-puppy whining. "We have to get him back."

"What?" Catherine jolted somewhat at the suddenness of his voice. She'd been staring out the window with sympathetic misery, or, judging by the damp glisten across her lashes, she felt actual sorrow at the turn of events.

Trowa scrubbed a hand over his face. "Quatre. We have to find him."

"Trowa…" Her brows tipped into a downward crest.

He turned the full weight of his gaze on her. "Catherine, please."

"They're his family."

"We don't know that. We just took their word for it."

"Trowa, honey. They looked just like him. Quatre went with them willingly." She spoke harsh reality with excruciating gentleness.

"He was _scared_ of them."

Catherine's mouth flattened with quick, fleeting distress. "I know."

Trowa tightened his hands into Sandy. "He doesn't want to be with them."

"I know," said Catherine. "And I know you want to help him. Trowa, believe me, I feel the same way."

"No!" Trowa actually lifted his voice to her. He'd never done that before, not even when they were kids. "No, you don't! You don't feel the same way. I love him, Catherine. I'm in _love_ with Quatre. I can't – I can't just let it _end_ like this."

Catherine said nothing. Her hands formed two neat little balls in her lap. She seemed on the verge of weeping, and Trowa immediately regretted speaking so harshly. Fury still coursed through him from the helpless feeling of watching Quatre taken away. Catherine had kept a hand over his arm the entire time, holding him back, but in truth the shock of events kept him glued in place more than her flimsy restraint. The dark haired sister, she was the one who took Quatre's unresisting arm and steered him into their car. Quatre might have gone willingly, but only because of the lifeless, numb haze of his shutdown.

"We should go," said Catherine quietly. "It's a long drive."

"I'm not leaving."

"Trowa. Don't be unreasonable."

"I'm not leaving!" He stared out at the dark parking lot, like maybe by force of will alone he could summon the little red sedan back to dump Quatre right on to the pavement, right in the same spot he'd been standing just a while ago. Trowa swallowed.

"Do you know where they've taken him? Do you even know where they live, where Quatre's from? What will you do when you do find him?"

"No. I don't know. It doesn't matter." Trowa hated her logic. In that moment, he unfairly hated her for putting his failure into words. He should never have asked Quatre to come along on the trip. Trowa could try not to blame himself all he liked, but the fact remained that if it wasn't for his cowardly, selfish request, Quatre would be safe. He never should have let Quatre out of his sight. He should have knocked the women down, to hell with chivalry, grabbed Quatre's hand and run. And if Quatre couldn't have run, if he was too locked up inside himself with panic, Trowa would have carried him.

Bitter, bitter regret. Trowa stared out at the parking lot and felt the trembling edge of desperation. What was he going to do without Quatre? He simply could not imagine life without him. He looked down at Sandy and saw his own reflection in the bear's dark, glass eyes. Somehow the teddy bear's sewn expression seemed to offer comfort and misery both. Quatre would be frantic when he noticed the bear's absence. The thought hurt, right up under his ribs.

"Trowa, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. It's over." Catherine's voice broke. He shouldn't have yelled at her.

It would have been easy for Trowa to agree. He could let Catherine take him home and then find some way to slip out from her careful attention. Without Quatre acting as a second set of eyes it would be simple enough to manage. He'd betray whatever trust she gave for the final time and let it be truly over. It would have been easy.

"You're wrong," said Trowa. It came out husky and worn. He turned to look at her. "I won't just leave him, Cath. I won't let it end like this."

* * *

The room was all wrong. The bed stretched too far out beneath his roving hand, and the light coming in from the window was too crisp, too much of a blue-white. He knew slanting yellow streetlight broken into shadows by cheap blinds, or pale moonlight filtering through simple curtains. He knew no light at all and the glowing flicker of a muted television. This light was wrong.

Quatre pulled himself upright. He was fully clothed on a downy-soft bedspread. His shoes had been removed and nestled against the heavy wood and brass dresser just beside the bed. Framed black and white pictures of sidewalk cafes and antique streetlamps decorated the dark-painted walls. It was fashionable but bland. He reached for Sandy.

Slowly Quatre turned the search of his gaze into the bedding. His hand drifted over the rumpled outline in the comforter. He slid from the bed to the floor to look underneath the ruffled bed skirt. Dark and shadow met his desperate look. Quatre scrambled over to the light switch and slapped a hand against it. The room looked much the same – wrong, unfamiliar – and now hostile, for the absence of Sandy.

He tore apart the bed. He crawled almost all the way underneath it to sweep his hand over every inch of dust-bunny coated carpet. He stripped the comfort to the floor and ruffled up the sheets and threw the pillows to the floor with shaking hands. A splinter tore into his hand as Quatre banged through the dresser drawers without bothering to use the pulls. By the time he collapsed to the floor in surrender, he was panting and breathless like having run for miles.

Sandy wasn't there, because Quatre had left him in the cab of the moving van. He remembered now, with horrible clarity, glancing at the bear's dark eyes before closing the door. Trowa had been with him, so it was okay, but Trowa _wasn't_ with him, and it _wasn't_ okay. He'd been without Sandy before, but always with Trowa or Duo at hand – never alone like this, never – Quatre's breath hitched and broke around a dry sob.

That was how they found him. On his hands and knees against the carpet, shuddering, looking for all the world like the lunatic they expected. Ruinous chaos surrounded him from the desperate for search for Sandy. Quatre jerked his head up as at the door opened.

The twins stood framed against the hallway. He had to be in Lola's room. She'd be the one to hang up pretty pictures from places she'd never been. Cora crossed her arms and frowned. Quatre hastily got to his feet.

"You trashed my room!" Lola stepped toward him.

Quatre flinched back. He cast a desperate look over the mess he'd made of the bed. The dresser drawers were poorly stuffed back together after his ransacking search. When he glanced back to her, Lola was almost within arm's reach. He shied sideways to put the bed between them, even though it backed him toward the wall.

Cora just shook her head. "Leave him alone, Lola. He's scared of you."

"He's scared of everything," snapped Lola. The look she threw Quatre was one of pure disgust. "How'd he even get out, anyway? I thought Father had sent him away for good this time."

"Why don't you ask him?" snipped Cora. "Honestly, you're so rude. Hey, Quatre."

Quatre curled his arms and ducked his head. Normally the gesture would bring Sandy's ear close enough to reach with his teeth, but since his arms were empty the gesture served no purpose other than to highlight Lola's disapproval. Cold panic spiked into his chest and rendered him breathless, deflated.

"Where have you been all this time? Have you been with those friends of yours?" Cora paused before continuing with false sweetness, syrupy and sickening. "How'd you get that bump on your head?"

"Oh, like he's going to talk to you." Lola picked up a corner of the fallen sheet and tossed it across the bed. She turned to Quatre and spoke with excruciating slowness. "You're sleeping here tonight. Here. In this bed. Understand?"

Quatre stared at her. Words rose and fell in his throat. At last he nodded, meek and silent under the weight of her gaze.

Satisfied with the response, Lola turned away with a flouncing, childish huff. She caught Cora's arm at the door, leaned close, and whispered. It wasn't so quiet that Quatre couldn't hear, however. "Call Rashid again. Someone has to come get him before_ I_ go crazy."

"Shh," hissed Cora. But she laughed, and the door closed after them with a lonely click. A second sound followed, another metallic lurch, and Quatre realized with sinking terror that they'd locked him into the room.

Slower now, he searched the room the again. He refolded the clothes in the dresser drawers as he worked. He gathered the bedding into his arms and threw it back on to the mattress but didn't bother to tuck the sheets down. He wasn't going to sleep, not if they hadn't gotten a hold of Rashid yet. His mind raced, calculating flights and time zones. They wouldn't be able to reach Rashid until Sunday morning at the earliest. The return flight from Riyadh took forever and went in the wrong direction, so it was almost like time travel at the end. Quatre froze. Father would be on the same plane.

He tried the door first. The knob failed to turn even when he jerked and twisted and whispered frantic pleading at the unyielding lump of metal. Quatre shoved his weight against the wood until he feared they might hear him. Another quick search of the room turned up a box of hairpins, and Quatre shoved one around the lock with clueless urgency.

Eventually he had to abandon the idea. Quatre turned to the window, slowly, with a heavy wash of dread. He crept toward the gauzy white curtains and reached a hand into them. He pulled them aside. A bright white security light pooled against the front porch and cast shadows up against the glass. Second floor. The room was only on the second floor. Fifteen feet, maybe twenty, Quatre had no idea. It looked like forever. The grass below wavered and heaved like an ocean. Vertigo. It was only his fear. The ground wasn't that far away. It wasn't moving. Quatre sunk to the floor and tried very, very hard not to throw up. He clutched his knees to his chest and shook.

He probably sat like that for an hour. It felt like infinity. Eventually he found the strength to unlock his clammy hands from the sweat-slicked denim. His legs trembled slightly as he stood once more to confront the window. Fifteen feet, maybe twenty. How high had the fence been, leaving the hospital? He'd had Duo with him, and Zechs. And Sandy. Quatre felt like crying, but tears definitely wouldn't help. He buried them down beneath all the other terrors and breathed deeply until he longer felt quite so fragile.

Quatre set his fingers against the latch. Several racing heartbeats passed before he actually twisted the latch. The window popped slightly with the broken seal. Cool air breathed up through the crack. He gently pushed up the pane until more night air flowed into the room. It tingled across his skin, but even still he sweated as if under the high summer sky. The sweat was cold and rank with fear as he stared down at the grass. Fifteen feet. Maybe twenty. A fine mesh screen was all that separated him from the fall.

The screen pressed against his cautious fingertips. Quatre pushed. The screen popped free, and he forgot to keep hold. It fell the whole distance down to the grass and bounced. One side of the frame snapped. The screen broke. It _broke_. Quatre stared down at it.

Blood rushed in his ears. He was going to be deafened by the mad drumming. He was going to drown in it. Metallic grit flooded his mouth with a sour, acrid taste. Everything wavered, then shuddered, with unexpected violence like his own personal earthquake. Quatre gripped the sill and tipped forward with a heaving retch. He gagged and choked on all the vile filth.

When it was over, Quatre realized he was draped over the window, almost enough to fall, and only an electric jolt of reactionary fear gave him the strength to jerk away. He fell, limp, to the bedroom floor. Tears welled up out of frustrated defeat, and Quatre sobbed with broken abandon into the carpet. The sobs faded into hiccupped cries and then left him drained. He curled beneath the window, too subsumed in misery to move, and rubbed his wet cheeks into the itchy roughness of the floor.

Puking and crying almost made him feel better, after a while. Quatre rolled on to his back and wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his face to clean it. Resolution seeped slowly into the hollow void washed out by all the tears. Maybe in the morning they'd decide to do something else with him, or Rashid would think to check in with the office during the layover at Reykjavik. There was no guarantee he had anytime at all to indulge in petty fear. So what if he fell? It was only fifteen feet – maybe twenty. Quatre pushed himself up from the carpet.

Making the decision from the safety of the floor was one thing. Actually crawling through the window was another. He'd made a mess of things directly below anyway, with the broken screen and the rest. Quatre turned from the window to search the room. His gaze stuck on the rumpled pile of bedding.

He threw the comforter down first. It fluttered heavily to the ground but puddled gently beneath the window. Next he tossed all the pillows, even the tiny decorative ones with excessive lace. They bounced and rolled but more or less stayed within the general target zone. Quatre ran his hands over the window ledge looking for anything he could tie one of the sheets to, but the vinyl set into the brick was smooth. Even with all his weight against the bed, he couldn't push it any closer to the window. He tried the same with the dresser, but it resisted him even more than the bed had. The sheets followed the comforter out the window to serve as extra padding.

Again Quatre stood at the window and stared down at the ground. It looked somewhat less hostile this way. The cool night air rushed over him, and Quatre gripped the curtains. The curtains! Quatre dug his fingers into the cloth and pulled, hard as he dared. The fabric strained but held. He regretted having thrown the sheets out already. Quatre ripped one side of the window bare and carefully tied the two sets together in a big, fat knot. It wasn't much, just a few extra feet to dangle from before falling, but the more he did to prepare the better Quatre felt about it.

He checked his pockets quickly to assure himself he still possessed his wallet. His sisters hadn't thought to take it from him. All his money still sat safely within, minus the portion he'd given over to Duo for safekeeping. Quatre gathered his shoes and laced them tight. The last things he thought to grab were extra socks and the plainest t-shirt he could find out of Lola's closet. He stuffed the shirt into his jacket and zipped it up tight. The socks he found room for by splitting them into either front pocket, although they bulged awkwardly.

Quatre gulped cold air in front of the window. Tremors rattled through the tight clasp of his hands into the knotted curtains. Slowly, moving with agonizing care, Quatre eased one leg out into the night. It swung freely into the emptiness and terror gripped him. He shifted his weight forward. He might start screaming if it took any longer, but he could no sooner hurry than fly. Quatre inched his way over the window ledge. Muscles he didn't even know he possessed shook with the strain of it. He tightened his hold over the curtain and stared up at the dark flash of the sky rather than down below at the discarded bedding.

The curtain held his weight. He made an awkward, desperate press against the side of the house. The toes of his sneakers gripped at the brick, scrambling to find purchase, and he had to remind himself to stop before the jerking motion ruined everything. The fabric twisted beneath the strain, turning him in a slow circle. He wasn't supposed to look down. He wasn't going to look down. He looked down.

The ground still seemed very far away. Quatre flinched his eyes shut. His lungs worked like a bellows for a long, shuddering spiral of fear, but he clamped down tight on the panic before it could explode through him. It wasn't that far away. It wasn't that far away. Slowly, Quatre scooted toward the end of the makeshift rope.

There was a sudden jerk, a terrifying ripping sound, and Quatre let out a short, dismayed shriek as he plummeted into free fall. It was over very quickly. He barely had time to feel the full force of his fear. He struck the ground with a dull thud and a small crunch. The comforter poofed around him with an almost comical lack of actually breaking his fall.

Stars flashed across his vision. He gasped against the crushing sensation of his chest until his diaphragm readjusted and let him draw one desperate breath and then, miraculously, another. Only then did Quatre register the sharp, ominous ache in his wrist. The very same wrist he'd sprained before, but this time utter certainty filled him that it was broken. He knew with bone-deep dread, even before he rolled upright and could see the unnatural twist in the joint. He ought to be afraid, but Quatre only felt giddy relief. He tipped his face up toward the open window and let out a soft, shaky laugh.

Carefully Quatre picked himself up from the ground. It was awkward, since he had to avoid using one hand, and made all the more difficult by the wobbly unsteadiness in his legs. He stood and then had to brace against his knee with his good hand until the dizzy, queasy spinning lessened. The first floor of the house was dark and quiet. The porch light still blazed across the ground, so he was perfectly visible to anyone who looked outside or drove past. Since the twins lived at the curving end of a cul-de-sac, that seemed unlikely.

Quatre found one of the pillows and waved it around until the case slipped free. He laid the fabric down on the comforter and folded it into a long, narrow strip. Awkward was an understatement, but he managed to gingerly wrap the fabric over his wrist and tie it tight using his teeth and good hand. The pain brought tears to his eyes and made him feel weak-kneed and sick, but afterward the makeshift brace dulled some of the persistent, pounding ache.

Quatre started walking. It wasn't like he knew where to go, other than to the end of the street and then in whichever direction looked best. He just wanted to get as far away as possible before they noticed he was missing. It could be anytime between sunset and sunrise. He could see the sliver of moon high in the sky, but that told him nothing. He had no idea how to read the stars.

A few twists and wrong turns led to backtracking, but ultimately Quatre made it to the subdivision exit. Dark, quiet road stretched in either direction without a glimmering hint of where to go next. Quatre realized he needed to stay away from the main road unless he wanted to get caught. Out in the pleasant suburbs like this, someone would be sure to notice a teenage boy walking alone at night. He wandered a little ways down into the tree line on the opposite side of the road.

It made for slow and difficult walking. Straggly trees and unruly underbrush clawed at his clothes. He had to keep his injured wrist high against his chest, sometimes even over his head, to avoid swinging it into even the lightest obstructions. Puddles of stagnant runoff splashed over his sneakers and dampened the hem of his jeans. He felt sudden gratitude for the two clean socks in pockets. Every so often Quatre would trudge up the embankment to check the road before slipping back down into the concealment of the trees.

Shock settled in slowly. The hurt in his wrist shifted from a pinprick numbness to twisting agony and back again. The throbbing awareness stayed the same no matter how fervently he tried to ignore it. He began to shiver despite the sheen of sweat across his forehead and down his back. When he grew too sick to keep walking, he sat on the driest patch of ground he could find until the spinning queasiness lessened enough to let him continue.

It became harder to force himself up the slight incline to the road. He'd only heard two cars go by, and both in the opposite direction, toward the houses he'd left behind. Quatre considered turning back, but he'd already struggled to come as far as he had. The stretches between resting and walking grew smaller and smaller until the time finally came when he felt too weary and sick to stand. He'd found a fallen tree to sit on. It was hardly bigger around than his thigh, but it held his weight with a bending fragility all the same.

Quatre cried, then, just a few silent, shameful tears. He let them dribble down his cheeks before hastily scrubbing them away with the hem of his shirt. Leaf muck and tiny broken twigs from the ruined fabric ground into his face. The indignity of it galvanized him into action. Quatre swayed to his feet and kept walking.

The next time he felt like resting, Quatre pushed onward. He waited for the incline to lessen before turning out of the trees and up to the road. A driveway greeted him from across the dark, unlined pavement. He could see two red reflectors indicating the turn off. Just ahead was a hill. It wasn't even much of a hill, but the sight of it sunk Quatre's heart all the way down to his soaked socks.

Rather than trudged down into the trees, Quatre stuck to the side of the road. Halfway up the slope he felt the strain. He breathing turned ragged and harsh. His wrist shot fire and brimstone with each jarring step. Quatre picked a specific spot of shadow at the top of the hill and kept his eyes focused on it. He'd stop when he reached that point, and not a single agonizing step sooner.

When he reached the designated spot, Quatre slumped into what wasn't quite a faint but came awfully close. He just barely kept from falling forward onto his hands. His knees struck the pavement and the rest of him crumpled right along into a sideways sprawl. It kept the weight off his wrist, at least. Red and black past over his eyes in hypnotic waves, and Quatre could hear the harsh, uneven pant of his own breath. He was so tired. Quatre felt certain that unless he got back up, he'd pass out right there on the side of the road.

Somehow he found the strength to sit upright. Standing wasn't going to happen, not right away, not until the tremors settled in his thighs and calves. Quatre carefully held his wrist against his chest and looked down the hill from the direction he'd come. Twinkling lights dotted the blackness to denote the subdivision he'd left behind. Further out were more lights. Taller buildings, brighter lights, towering red spires to keep aircraft safe – the city. He'd been walking the wrong direction the whole time.

It wasn't funny, but Quatre laughed anyway. It started small, more like a whimper, fracturing out of him like something horrible and broken. It stretched into puffs of white in the cold and then shattered, collapsing in on itself, twisting into a sob.

The rumbling sound of the engine reached him before the headlights shone across the hill. Quatre scrambled to his feet. The car appeared around the bend in the road, and Quatre bolted for the trees. He stumbled, tripped, and only a frantic windmill impression with both arms kept him from tumbling straight down the hill. The jerking motion roiled over his wrist and all through his body.

The car drove past without stopping. Quatre fell to his knees and one elbow in the grass. He vomited bile and then dry heaved until the sides of his empty stomach scratched together. The miserable, wracking sounds he made belonged to some ruined creature, not him. Somehow he found the strength to crawl away from the sickness and into the cover of the woods. Quatre flopped on to his side again and knew he wouldn't be getting up again anytime soon. He could just barely see the stars through the fall-stripped trees, and they spun merrily like a beautiful kaleidoscope. He'd only rest for a little while before deciding what to do next.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! I'll work hard on the next update.

copyright 2013 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. BL-related goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
check the tumblr tag #fly on broken wings or #violetnyte


	107. Unplanned

LSC / 3-14-13  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Seven: Unplanned)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 107

**Unplanned**

* * *

Quatre woke at dawn. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been out. Bleary confusion vanished into crystal clear memory, and Quatre bolted upright so fast that he was nearly sick again. It was a very startling way to come awake. Leaves were stuck all over him, and dew clung to him with irritating dampness. There was sick and tears smeared over his jacket sleeve. Dirt accumulated under his nails with ink-pen blackness. He'd never felt so unclean in his life.

His wrist hurt. His head hurt, too, and Quatre tried to remember if he'd knocked it against something last night. Well, other than crashing out a window. He must have jarred at the still-tender goose-egg on his forehead in the fall, or maybe something hard on the ground beneath him had wedged itself underneath his head.

Hunger gnawed at the terrible smashed-up tenderness of his stomach. The idea of food made him queasy, so maybe it was for the best he didn't actually have any. On the whole, Quatre felt slightly better than when he'd passed out. It wasn't much of an encouragement, but it was all he had. Even a few snatched hours of sleep gave him the strength to get to his feet and start walking, except he wasn't sure at all where to go.

More cars drove on the road now than in the night. As he struggled upright, he heard three distinct engines pass. He couldn't quite see them, not with the trees and the slope of the hill. At least now he could tell a very general sense of direction using the sun. He knew enough that the sun rose in the east, and using that meager knowledge as his guide, Quatre figured out that the road ran north and south. He started walking west, deeper into the woods. Whenever the westward path became too rough he veered toward the north, the way he'd been walking at night.

As he walked, Quatre spared some attention to his wrist. Lumped up swelling made his fingers look like thick pinkish sausages jutting out from the stiff pillowcase-brace he'd made the night before. He didn't dare test the joint with motion. It was broken, and there wasn't much he could do about it. With any luck he'd be able to figure something out eventually, before he ruined his hand too much with neglect. He didn't want to think about it. He just had to keep moving. He'd figure something out.

Eventually his abused body demanded a rest. He stopped beside a filthy pond with shallow, reddish water. Only when he saw the water did Quatre feel thirsty. The idea bloomed into necessity, and he risked his sneakers into the mud so as to get closer. He rolled up his right sleeve as much as he could by rubbing it against his thigh. It was awkward with only one hand, but he inched up on the pond and knelt without getting his knees into the mud.

The water tasted about as bad as it looked. Too late Quatre remembered things like bacteria and whatever other potential nasties he could get from drinking dirty water. He hesitated, and then scooped more water to his mouth. It didn't seem to matter much when stacked against his thirst. As much as he'd thrown up the night before, he needed something in his stomach, even if it was only water and pond scum.

After he'd drank his fill, Quatre pushed onward. Eventually the woods would open up again, either with another road or maybe even a subdivision. The clean shirt he'd stolen from his sister still nestled up against his chest. If he took off his jacket, maybe found some way to clean his face, and no one looked too close at the filth and ruin of jeans and sneakers, there was a chance Quatre could escape notice long enough to figure out something.

He stopped a few more times to rest but never for very long. The fact that he hadn't come across anything other than brambles and trees made him nervous. Last night was a haze of pain and struggle in a lot of places, but he hadn't thought his sisters' house was this isolated. As the sun marched higher across the sky, Quatre found it harder and harder to ignore the deep ache of his hunger. He was thirsty again, too, but couldn't find anything more than dew-slick patches of shadow. His socks still felt squishy and damp. Maybe if he squeezed them out he could get a mouthful of moisture. The idea made him feel sick.

Just when Quatre began despair, he caught the distant but distinct sound of traffic. Something lay further up ahead, on the other side of a steep break in the ground. He'd planned to go around the cleft rather than try climbing it, but after following the edge for what had to be several hundred yards he turned back. The incline only became sharper and higher. It lessened into more of a slope where he'd originally encountered it. Exposed roots revealed potential handholds, so Quatre sat for a moment to conserve his strength before attempting the climb.

As he sat, Quatre gave serious consideration to forming a plan. He could keep forging deeper into the unknown or try his luck south, toward Trowa's hometown. His sisters had found him once, however, and by now they had surely noticed he was missing. Quatre hadn't known the two of them lived so close, or he'd have thought up some excuse to give Trowa. Or maybe just told him the truth.

It hurt too much to think of Trowa, because swiftly on the heels of his longing for the older boy came the distressing absence of Sandy. Thinking of Trowa made him want to hug his bear with violent need. He could hardly handle being separated from either of them, let alone both. His only consolation was that Trowa likely had Sandy with him. If he found – no, _when_ he found one, he'd have the other.

Quatre wedged the toe of his sneaker into the dirt and reached up as high as he could for a handhold. He kept his wrist cradled protectively to his chest as he half-jumped, half-climbed. Gravity joined forces with exhaustion to conspire against him, but Quatre managed it all the same. He crawled and dragged his way up to even ground again. Once able to, he rolled flat on his back and waited for things to stop spinning.

It felt a bit like after the drinking game, like being drunk, only without anyone to laugh along with him. And it wasn't funny. He was lost and alone, starving, with a broken wrist. At least it wasn't raining. Then again, if it were, he'd at least have water to drink. Quatre laughed, breathless, hardly more than a trembling outrush of air. Maybe it was a little funny. He'd have to remember it to tell Duo later.

Quatre got slowly to his feet. He listened carefully before heading northwest again. The sounds grew louder, faster, so he knew what to expect before actually catching sight of road stretched roughly east to west, and cars were traveling in both directions. Quatre could have dropped to his knees and kissed the dirt if he thought himself capable of getting back up again. Further ahead, he could see where the tree line fell away from the traffic and left the road exposed against the rolling grass. A broad sidewalk joined the black ribbon. It was a paved jogging trail, most likely, but if Quatre walked along there instead of hiding in the trees it wouldn't look too odd.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb his wrist more than necessary, Quatre peeled off his filthy jacket. It took inches of slow, deliberate effort on his part to pull Lola's shirt over his head, but he at least felt marginally cleaner when it was over. He shook his jacket out as best he could before finally turning it inside out and then tying it around his waist. It left his arms bare and cold, but served to hide the stains across his jeans from sitting in mud and forest muck. The only thing left to do was remove the makeshift brace. It looked too odd.

Quatre took his time. He watched the road traffic for a little while. He thought about Trowa, but only briefly. He wanted to summon the feel of Trowa's arms holding him close at night in the little bed, all warm and tender, and the way that Trowa would pet and kiss his face when giving comfort. He wanted that now more than anything. He wanted Trowa to hold him and make everything right. Quatre took a deep breath and let it out slow.

Afterward he sat in the grass with his head between his knees and tried very hard not to be sick. There wasn't anything for him to puke except dirty pond water and bile, but Quatre fought against the heaving nausea all the same. His wrist beat a furious tempo of white-star agony. He'd gotten the pillowcase off, at least. He found room for it around his middle, stuffed between the waistline of the jeans and his own clammy skin. It could be useful later.

Since the sidewalk began so abruptly and went in only the one direction, Quatre headed west. The sun shifted into his eyes with slow decline, and he tried not to think about the hunger or the hurt or how very, very tired and heart-worn he felt. Hopelessness crept up on him in waves, tidal slow, but Quatre snapped himself out of it before the rising waters could drown him. He needed to stay focused. He could figure this out. He just needed a plan.

Little pockets of homes popped up alongside him. Quatre spotted a planned subdivision under construction. The rock-gate flanked entrance led to populated houses with streaks of fresh sod and pristine curbs. Further along he found a second turn off, and this one led to churned dirt and ramshackle frames. Quatre tried to look like he knew what he was doing, even though there was no one around. He found a partially finished home with stickers and paper still coating the windows. The sod hadn't been laid yet, and workmen's tracks traced over the dirt. No one would be working on the weekend, however, and Quatre dared to try the front door. It was locked.

Determined not to give up so easily, Quatre eyed the wooden privacy fence that closed off the backyard. A little exploring revealed the fence was latched but not locked. Quatre wandered to the next street over until he found a fallen tree branch with plenty of spindly limbs. Clutching his prize, Quatre returned to the half-built home and boosted himself up to see over the fence again. He couldn't hold on to the fence and jimmy the latch at the same time, and he was too short to reach over the fence without lifting himself up with his good arm. Quatre sunk back to level ground and took a good look around to make sure he was truly alone.

Quatre fished the pillowcase out from around his waist and laid it out on the driveway. He positioned his left forearm carefully and set the tree limb against it. With excruciating caution, Quatre wrapped the arm. His wrist flared a protest. Quatre gripped the fabric in his teeth and pulled until his eyes watered. The result wasn't pretty and looked stupid, but it worked. Quatre hoisted himself up against the fence and held tight with his arm. He waved the left one around like an idiot until the limbs caught on the latch and the gate swung open under the force of his weight.

Once inside the yard, Quatre shut the fence and sunk to his knees to rest. He wrestled the tree branch free and tossed it aside. Radiating agony from his wrist offered disapproval for even that slight exertion, but it didn't matter once Quatre found the backdoor to the house unlocked. He pushed his way inside with the first feelings of excitement and hope he'd felt all day.

The backdoor opened up into a laundry room without a washer or dryer. Quatre moved further into the house until he found the kitchen. There was no fridge, just a strange nook where one belonged, and the room smelled like grout and vinyl. Heart in his throat, he tried the sink. The pipes grumbled and groaned but, miraculously, water spewed from the faucet. Quatre nearly shrieked aloud with happiness. Water! Clean water! And, when he twisted the knob all the way over, _hot_ water. Grim and dirt ran from his fingers as he played them under the decadently scalding flow.

Quatre prowled through the house to make absolutely certain he was alone. When he'd assured himself of privacy, he found the master bath and closed the door securely. He locked it, too, for good measure. The boy reflected out in the mirror gave him a shock; he looked so strange that Quatre had thought for a moment he wasn't, in fact, alone. He was truly filthy from having crawled through the forest and slept outside. At some point the bashed-up tenderness on his forehead must have broken open to bleed again, because red streaks marred his bangs and stuck them across his skin. Dark circles under both eyes gave him a punched-in, bruised kind of look. He ran the cold water and ducked his head to drink until his stomach sloshed with almost painful satisfaction.

Since there was no way to dry his clothes if he washed them fully, Quatre only batted a little water over the worst of the stains on his jacket. He draped it over the towel rack to dry as best it could while he cleaned himself. His jeans, socks, and both shirts found space across the sink and on the closed toilet lid. Quatre ran the shower gleefully hot and stepped under the spray. He kept the water pressure low since there wasn't a curtain to contain the splashing. There wasn't any shampoo or soap, either, but he did what he could.

Being clean made him feel wonderful. With a belly full of water, he could almost ignore the pangs of hunger. The hot water had warmed him up as well, even though the bathroom was cold again once he turned off the water. Still, for a moment, he hadn't felt so scared. He drip-dried for as long as he could stand the chill air before redressing in the same clothes. He put on the clean socks, at least. The old ones were so grubby and stained that he abandoned them. Lola's shirt he wore over his own for extra warmth. The boy in the mirror looked like a drowned rat. It wasn't all that great of an improvement, but at least he felt better. Whole, maybe a bit more normal, and ready to keep going.

Except, he really was tired. He couldn't have gotten much sleep between passing out and jarring awake. Quatre chewed at his lower lip as he mulled his options. The next room over might have been a bedroom. It was impossible to tell without any furniture. He decided to make it one by curling up on the carpet in front of the door. If anyone caught him and tried to come in, his own body would act like a doorstop. It wasn't the best security system, but it would do.

Bone-weary exhaustion might have brought him to a temporary halt, but Quatre felt far too geared up and anxious for sleep. The floor was only marginally more comfortable than the forest had been. If he took off his jacket to use as a pillow, he became cold. He bunched his good arm under his head as best he could without jarring his hurt wrist. He didn't want to think about the broken joint. He just needed to figure out a way to get food. Now that he was clean, maybe he'd just find some gas station or fast food place. His mouth watered. He could almost taste a hot, greasy, cheese-covered burger. A weak rumbling twisted his empty stomach painfully. Maybe he shouldn't think about food. He could think about Trowa again. That hurt, too, but it was a sweet torture.

Trowa and Sandy, wherever they were, he hoped they weren't too worried. _It's okay, Trowa. Don't be sad. When I wake up, I'll come find you_. He dreamed the whole ride in the moving van all over again, which was very strange and kind of boring, and then succumbed to the repeated nightmare of falling out the window. Each time the distance grew greater and greater until he stood on towering roof beneath the red glow of a giant W.

Quatre woke with a start. He tried to catch himself from falling against the carpet, but since he lay flat on the floor there wasn't anywhere to go. He laughed shakily, relieved and disturbed alike at the situation. Sore muscles and cramped limbs grumped at him for sitting upright and then, slowly, getting to his feet. He braced a trembling hand against the door. He shook all over. Hunger had ceased to be a persistent ache and was now an utter torment. He needed to find food, quickly.

The sun hung low in the sky, almost kissing the horizon, when he slipped out of the house and once again started walking. It had gotten even colder. Quatre brushed a hand over his wallet several times as he walked. He could buy new clothes, clean clothes. Hot food. He could even get a hotel room, just like that first night on the run with Duo and Zechs.

Duo, and Zechs. Who looked a lot older than him, and were older than him, and knew what they were doing. Looking like he did, even clean, there was no way. Quatre let the misery of reality wash over him for a moment before shoving it aside. Food first. Food, a heavier jacket, and then he could worry about where to go next or how to get through the night.

Quatre followed the road until it intersected a busier street with multiple lanes. He switched paths and was rewarded with a cluster of buildings, including some shops, a gas station, and even a stupid fast food burger place like he'd been drooling about. Quatre went in, ordered, and sat facing the window so no one could see how desperately he attacked the meal. It was possibly the most delicious food he had ever eaten in his entire life, and he barely tasted it. He took huge bites and hardly chewed; there was a savageness to it that alarmed some soft part of him. Afterward he felt slightly sick from having eaten so much so fast.

Having a full stomach lent him the clarity of mind to form kind semblance of a plan. He started to ask at the counter for quarters, but the woman running the cash register kept frowning at him. She was older, motherly looking, and her eyes tracked his forehead with single-minded curiosity and assumption. Quatre turned on his heel and left, quickly, not wanting to run but not wanting to stick around either.

There was a supercenter just up the way and on the other side of a highway overpass. He could see the sign stretching up into the gloomy twilight. Twenty-four hours ago, more or less, he'd been with Trowa and Catherine (and Sandy) about to eat pizza. If Quatre could whirl back in time to that moment, well, he wasn't sure what he could do differently. Sneak out the back, maybe, and have Trowa bring the van around. It wasn't a very satisfying what-if.

Maybe it was because he was lost in thought, thinking about Trowa. Maybe it was the constant low ache in his head or the dull throb in his wrist; both were certainly distracting. It could have been the clinging exhaustion or the blisters on his feet or any number of excuses, but the fact was that he just flat-out was not paying attention as he crossed the parking lot toward the store's front entrance.

A mini-van backed out of a parking space and directly into him.

It was almost kind of funny, in a very detached, unreal, this-can't-be-happening kind of way.

The bumper struck his hip. Quatre saw the brake lights flare, and then he hit the pavement. He purposefully kept from using his injured arm to help catch the fall, but that just meant his knees and good hand took the brunt of it. Fortunately the driver must have seen him or felt the bump, because they stopped shy of crushing him beneath the back tires.

Voices exploded all around him. High-strung panic filtered down at him in a thin, obnoxious buzz that grew louder and then, abruptly, became words.

"—didn't even see you, oh my God, are you okay?"

"Mom! Mom! You killed someone! Mom!"

"Shut up, stupid, he's not dead."

"Mom! Mom! Shannon called me stupid."

Quatre scooted away from the van's bumper. Hatch-mark abrasions from striking the pavement had ripped a raw patch of tingle-sharp pain across his palm. He wiped the blood on the thigh of his jeans and looked up at the woman, her two kids, and the small but growing circle of bystanders. Oh, _hell_.

"Are you all right? Maybe you shouldn't move." The woman wrung her hands in a way that made Quatre all the more anxious.

The boy knelt and stared at Quatre like he was some bug caught in a jaw. "Mom, he's bleeding. You killed him."

"He's not dead," said the girl. She was older, somewhere in that strange state where little girls started to become teenagers.

"I'm okay," said Quatre. Or, he tried to say it. He hadn't spoken in so long that it came out strange. It didn't even sound like his voice.

One of the bystanders spoke, a man. "I'm calling 911."

The woman's eyes grew big and round. She wrung her hands more. "I swear, I didn't see him."

A second woman came out of the crowd and knelt next to Quatre. He strained not to flinch. She said, "you're all right" in a way that he found exceptionally patronizing. She started to reach for Quatre's shoulder.

He bolted to his feet. "Really. I'm fine."

None of the adults seemed inclined to listen to him. The driver bit her lip and fretted. The man with the cell phone started to dial. The woman who'd approached him kept trying to touch him. Both the kids just stared at him.

Quatre took off running.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you for reading! I went home sick from work today and only now woke up. Sorry about that.

copyright 2013 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. BL-related goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
check the tumblr tag #fly on broken wings or #violetnyte


	108. The Date

LSC / 3-15-13  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Eight: The Date)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 108

**The Date**

* * *

At first Duo didn't recognize him. Like to the point that he saw the boy, registered his appearance, and kept watching him approach. Only as he nearly got right up on him did Duo realize the bewitching and exotic Chinese boy walking toward the bus stop was, in fact, Wufei. Or at least his body, because it seemed irreconcilable to attribute such an outfit with stodgy, well-mannered Wufei.

He wore dark jeans, slim cut and absurdly flattering on his lithe the frame, with a cropped red jacket over a slinky black shirt. Silver flashed at his wrist and throat from a tasteful selection of bold, chunky jewelry. When an idle gesture tucked aside wisps of his unbound, glossy hair, Duo spotted the rust-red streaks striking through all that black ink. Perhaps most striking of all, however, were the rectangular black frames that cut across the oval of his face.

"Good evening," said Wufei. And despite appearances, it really had to be Wufei, talking like that all stiff and formal. He held his weight cocked oddly to one side, as if unused to his own body or unsure of how standing on a sidewalk worked.

"Uh, hey," said Duo. He ran a pointed look over the new clothes, dyed hair, and - fuck, was that a hint of eyeliner, sloping his eyes into wickedness? Duo forgot what the rest of his mouth might have thought to say. It just hung open in shock.

Wufei shifted under the scrutiny. A flash of unease crossed his face, here and gone before getting wiped out by a cautious sort of tight-lipped smile. "Were you able find the place all right?" He spoke in a decidedly neutral tone.

Duo couldn't match the casual air. "Holy shit, 'Fei. You look totally hot."

A slow scarlet bled up into Wufei's face. "That is good of you to say. Thank you."

"When'd you get new glasses? Are they actually fix-the-blurry glasses? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Wufei's mouth flattened into a grimace. " I can see you just fine. Better, in fact. My old ones were a bit poor at long distances." He adjusted them, and the gesture was an entirely Wufei-like one.

"Well, all right. What's with the wardrobe change? And did you actually dye your hair? Lemme see." Duo closed the space between them and threaded a hand through the glistening strands. The red and black fell through his fingers like silk.

"Yes," said Wufei. "I wanted to do something new." His eyes crinkled with a rare smile. "Do you like it?"

"Sure!" Duo pulled his hand free of Wufei's hair. "Like I said, you look great. I mean, yeah, its kind of weird. Oh, not that you looked bad before or anything, but the new look totally suits. Well,damn, now I wish I'd brought Quat or Tro along to see."

"Thank you for coming alone," said Wufei. He dropped his eyes and looked sideways up at Duo in some coy, playful expression that seemed more Treize than him. "I wanted to see you. To, ah, catch up."

"Sure." Duo grinned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. The gesture gaped open the jacket he'd borrowed from Heero, some sturdy thing in black leather that he was immediately jealous of and needed to own. It was a good thing Heero matched him so well in size. Most of his clothes were still back at the hospital or, more likely at this point, chucked into a charity bin. Good riddance, in a lot of ways.

Wufei started to rub at his eye and then stopped, as if just remembering the kohl streaking over his expression. His hand dropped awkwardly to his side. "Are you ready to eat now?"

Duo shrugged. "That's fine. What'd you have in mind?"

Wufei lifted up on to his toes and looked carefully around at the street signs and other landmarks. His mouth moved slightly as he whispered to himself. "There's a place just that way." He pointed. "It's supposed to have good dumplings."

"Dumplings?" Duo followed after him.

"Yes. You'll like them." Wufei glanced up at him. "Is that all right?"

"Yeah, why not? Anything's better than another casserole I guess."

Confusion squiggled along Wufei's brow as he failed to understand the joke. Duo refrained from explaining, since Wufei always got so twitchy when Heero came up in conversation. They talked instead about safer, boring things like what Wufei was studying in school and what silly nonsense Duo thought up as they walked.

When they reached the restaurant, Wufei held the door for him. Something delicious filled the air and, over that, the hurried sound of rapid Chinese being spoken by the women behind the counter. It was small, just a dozen cramped tables, but cozy with an almost tacky level of kitsch. Round-eyed statuary filled with bamboo crowded the corners, and along the walls were cheap watercolor paintings of misty tree-rimmed mountains. The warbling sound of cheap, tinny speakers pumped what sounded like Chinese karaoke versions of fifties pop sounds. Duo immediately loved everything about the place.

He told this to Wufei, who turned crimson before stammering, "Well, good, I'm glad. I hope the food is suitable as well." He snatched a menu up from the counter and stared at it with resolute intensity.

Duo leaned to see over his shoulder. "None of that makes sense to me."

Wufei set the menu down and wedged his way to the register. "It's fine. I'll order. I know what to get. Find us a seat?"

Duo debated the table by the window versus the one in the back. Deciding he'd rather be warmer than have a view, Duo threw himself into a slouch to watch Wufei at the counter. He ordered quickly in a strange, staccato mix of English and Chinese. The woman snipped a few questions at him, and Wufei shook his head. He paid and came to join Duo at the table clutching the paper stub of their receipt.

"You better not have ordered anything super weird," Duo warned. He shoved his chair back so as to lean against the wall.

Predictably, Wufei frowned. "You'll like it," he said at last. "And if you don't, I'll eat them instead, and I'll buy you something else."

"Well, fuck, I'm just teasing you. I'm sure it'll be awesome." Duo brightened. "Closest they ever came to serving Chinese at the hospital was that terrible stir-fry, you remember that? All limp vegetables in that over salted sauce, and the stringiest beef ever. The rice was either half-mush or rock-hard. You were so offended by it, I could tell. Like it was going to jump off the plate and spit in your face."

"Yes, well." Wufei traced some idle pattern into the tabletop. "I thought you might appreciate the novelty, if nothing else."

"I like the native treatment. Say something else in Chinese."

"What?"

Duo gestured toward the ordering counter. "You were speaking it just a second ago. Say something else, I want to hear it."

"Oh. Ah. All right." Wufei sunk into his seat somewhat. "_Ni hao_."

"_Ni hao_," Duo repeated. "What's it mean? Is it a swear word?"

"No, of course not. It just means hello."

"Well that's boring. Teach me a swear word." The legs of his chair thunked against the tile as Duo leaned over the small table. He lowered his voice. "Something really filthy and insulting."

Wufei's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I will not."

"Oh, come on. Please, Wafers?"

"Fine." Wufei leaned forward as well. Their faces came quite close. The rust-stained gloss of his hair fell forward into the space between them, and Wufei brushed it back with an idle gesture. He whispered, "_Hundan_."

Duo snorted. "That doesn't sound very rude."

Wufei straightened with such abruptness that Duo knew he'd said the wrong thing. Tension rippled over the lines of the boy's face. The woman at the counter called out a number in her thick accent, and Wufei bolted to his feet. He turned away before Duo could think to apologize for whatever offense he'd caused. Wufei traded the receipt stub for a tray of food. When he returned, no hint of the earlier strife seemed evident, so Duo left it drop as well.

"Here," said Wufei. He set a plate in front of Duo. Arranged on the tray were several smaller plates with a variety of unrecognizable things that looked soft and delicious, like baked lumps of cloud. A few were coated in sesame seeds and still others puckered like unfurled flowers. Wufei quickly distributed half of them on to Duo's plate. "Start with these." He pointed at the flower-looking ones.

Following Wufei's lead, Duo plucked the dumplings up using his hand and chomped the whole thing into his mouth. Well, Wufei took tiny, delicate bites. Duo figured it was more of a challenge to take the whole thing in one go. The outside was just as soft as it looked, sweet and slightly sticky, and the filling within was strange without being unpleasant. It had a slight grit to it.

"Lotus seed," said Wufei. He stared across the table at Duo. "Do you like it?"

Duo chewed forever and then swallowed. Also on the tray was a ceramic pot of tea and two ridiculously tiny round cups without handles. He reached, but Wufei hastily jumped into action. He grabbed the teapot out from under Duo's hand and poured for him.

"Yeah," Duo said, once he'd washed the dumpling down with tea. "I do."

Wufei brightened. "Try this one next."

They continued like that, with Duo trying each item under Wufei's attentive supervision. As Duo drained the tiny cup, Wufei refilled it, so the point that Duo made a game to himself out of trying to sneak sips. When he tried to return the favor, Wufei waved him away with insistence.

"Okay." Duo spoke around another mouthful of the lotus seed bun, which he'd decided were his favorites after the tennis-ball sized, perfectly round pork ones. There'd only been two of those, one for him and one for Wufei, but three of the lotus seed. "Which is your favorite?"

Surprise glimmered over Wufei's face. He adjusted his glasses as he looked critically over the demolished remains of their dinner. "These," he said at last. He pointed at one of the ones Duo hadn't liked; after two bites he'd set it aside with a grimaced apology. There'd been four to begin with, and now Duo realized that Wufei had eaten the remaining three.

It made him feel like a jerk. "You can have the rest of mine, then."

"No, that's all right," Wufei said quickly. "Taro is an acquired taste I guess. Here, these are for dessert. It's just egg custard."

Duo drained his tea. There wasn't any left in the pot for Wufei to serve, which made it slightly comical when he tried anyway. Duo pinched at the flaky pastry crust for the tiny yellow pie-looking thing Wufei gestured at him to eat. It was sweet without being overwhelming, but Duo secretly would have preferred a decadent chocolate cake for dessert. He didn't say this, however. He told Wufei he liked it, because every time he said so the other boy smiled.

"So, what." Duo kicked back in his chair again to watch Wufei polish off the last of the food. "Is this what you ate everyday growing up?"

"What do you mean?" Wufei flashed him a suddenly anxious look over the rim of his glasses.

"You know. Wherever the fuck you're from."

The stiffness rolled out of his shoulders. "I'm not from China. Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm from a town barely hour from here. I've never even been to China."

"Oh, well, excuse me." Duo grinned. "You just seemed so knowledgeable about it."

"I suppose." Wufei stood. "Are you done? Did you get enough to eat?"

"Sure, it was yummy." Duo grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged back into it. "Thanks for buying, too. You didn't have to do that."

"I know," said Wufei. "I wanted to."

Whatever it was in the way he spoke, it froze Duo in place for a moment. The feeling came and went, abrupt like a gust of cold air from an open door. It was just Wufei, his friend, scowling up at him with the fussiness that Duo was so fond of in the first place.

Wufei snatched one of the tiny mints from the counter as they passed and popped it into his mouth. Duo followed suit, but found the wintergreen freshness to be too strong. When they reached the sidewalk, Duo found a way to covertly spit his mint off into the street. Wufei didn't seem to notice. He was on his toes again, doing a prairie dog impression, trying to orientate himself against the flat stretch of street.

"So, I better get back." Duo tipped his face toward the dark sky. He was thinking about Heero, who would have gotten off work already. He'd left a note in case everything ran later than he'd guessed and Heero made it home first. It seemed unlikely, since Heero's calendar ordered him to go buy groceries after work. With any luck Heero hadn't noticed that it'd been written in Duo's mimicry of his handwriting and not his own actual blocky script.

"So soon?" Wufei's mouth turned down. "It's still early."

Duo hesitated. "What'd you have in mind?"

Wufei shrugged his hands into the pockets of his red jacket. "Something fun."

It made him laugh. "Sure. For a bit longer, I guess."

Wufei smiled. "Great. Okay, this way." He pointed down the street toward the way they'd come in the first place. Before reaching the bus stop, however, Wufei turned them down a smaller side road. He hesitated at the next intersection.

"Where are we going?" asked Duo.

"This way." Wufei hitched his glasses against his nose and started walking. Duo wasn't rude enough to point out when they looped in a slight circle. Eventually Wufei got his directions straight and led them to a small video arcade.

"Oh, cool!" Duo turned his head, quickly, trying to take in all the lights and colors and noise.

Wufei set a hand against his back and shoved him out of the doorway. "I thought you'd like it. Here, I'll get you some quarters."

Duo searched a hand through his pockets. "I've got some. They're for the bus, but—"

"No." Wufei closed his hand over Duo's. After a moment he seemed to jolt, like struck by a static shock, and then pulled away. "Don't worry about it. I'll pay." He turned in a whirl and hurried over to the change machine.

After a moment to puzzle over the strangeness of it all, Duo followed. He bit his tongue against a flurry of questions and leaned a hip into the machine as Wufei patiently fed dollar bills into it. "Hey, let's play a racing game. I bet I can beat you at it."

"I'm sure you can." Wufei scooped the coins from the return dish.

"No, you're supposed to bet that I can't."

Wufei tilted a sly look at him. It wasn't an expression that fit the serious sheen of his dark eyes. "What do I get if I win?"

For once Duo couldn't think of what to say. "Uh."

Wufei smiled, slowly, and tipped his head toward the rows of game machines. "You better hope I lose, then, if that's going to be the bet. Come on."

They each sat in one of the domed racing seats. Duo tapped the pedal while Wufei plunked quarters in to pay for the race. A cheerful mascot in a tiny white skirt flashed across the screen while music played the short intro. Duo picked a fast-looking coupe and spun through the options to get a hot pink paint job. Wufei stuck with the stock line up.

Neither of them proved very adept at the game. Duo pulled ahead on the straightaway but flew erratically into the turns. He crashed out twice, losing the lead to Wufei's more controlled handling, and barely pulled it together for the climactic finale. His hot pink car sailed across the finish line just seconds before Wufei.

Duo cheered and pumped his fist into the air. "I win!"

Wufei slipped his hands from the steering wheel and let them rest in his lap. "Congratulations. Would you like to race again?"

"Nah, this seat smells like burnt leather and nerd sweat. Let's play something else. I know, a fighting game! Spirit Warrior Seven is out, right?" Duo tumbled free of the racing machine and searched over the brilliant arrangement of lights and sound. Finding the machine he wanted, he snagged Wufei's hand and dragged him along toward it.

The fighting game turned out to suit him better. Duo handily beat Wufei twice in a row before the other boy got the hang of the controls and trounced him soundly. When Duo bored of that game, he pulled Wufei along to a grab-claw machine. He wasted several dollars of Wufei's money trying to rescue a pink pig from the hoard. Wufei pressed against the glass to watch and offered suggestions for incremental adjustments. When Duo surrendered at the attempt, Wufei took over for a final shot at it. Infuriatingly, he snagged the toy on the first try. It toppled free of the metal claw and down the chute.

Wufei bent to collect his prize. "Here. Would you like it?" He offered it to Duo.

Duo shrugged. "You won it fair and square."

The pig suffered a slight mauling as Wufei squeezed the fur. His dark gaze roved over Duo's face and then dropped. A lump bobbed through his throat. He looked up again, and Duo entirely mistrusted the stubborn set of the boy's jaw. "I won it for you."

Viper-like, Duo shot a hand out and grabbed the stuffed animal. "Fine. I'll take it."

Wufei shifted his weight and then opened his mouth to speak. Whatever it was, the set of his features or the serious glimmer of his eyes, all of it changed the air around them and made Duo's heart beat harder. Whatever it was Wufei wanted to say, Duo instantly knew it wasn't anything he wanted to hear. Rather than suffer through the awkwardness and ruin, Duo hastily said, "It's late. I gotta go. Thanks!"

Maybe it was cowardly of him, but Duo at least got all the way outside before Wufei caught up with him. The smaller boy caught his hand and clung tight. "Wait. Don't leave yet."

"It's late, 'Fei! Seriously, gotta jet. Nothing personal." The abnormal quality was back in Wufei's face. Duo felt trapped by it.

Wufei clasped Duo's hand in a warm, soft grip. He pulled, slowly, bringing them close together. The captive hand he set against his chest, over his heart. Duo expected to feel a heartbeat. He didn't. It was very strange. "Don't leave yet."

"Er." Duo turned his head one way and then the other. The stupid pink pig hung at his side in a limp hold. "All right."

"I would like to say something to you."

Duo wondered if he wished long enough a hole might open up and drop him down into some abyss where Wufei didn't look at him like _that_. "Sure. Okay."

Wufei glanced aside. It felt like a pin getting pulled from a dead butterfly in some sicko's bug collection. A rush of air left Duo and set his shoulders sagging. Before he could relish in the relief too much, the look was back along with the full of Wufei's attention. "Over here," he said. He led Duo into a small nook between the back of two buildings. Shadows coated the boy's face. Still he held their hands together.

"Uh, Wufei, look—"

"No." He tossed his head, setting the red highlights into a gleam. "I would like to speak. Just listen. Please."

It shut Duo up pretty damn fast. His teeth clicked together.

"When I first came to the hospital, you were very kind to me. I appreciated that. I am not sure if I have ever properly thanked you for that kindness. You were a friend to me when I had none – when I never really had any friends. It is thanks to you that I can be the person I am today. Your friendship means a lot to me."

"Er. Yeah. Yeah, 'Fei, I—"

"Duo. Let me speak." Wufei cast a long, dark look up at him. When assured he wouldn't be interrupted, he continued. "I am telling you this because I don't want what I'm going to say next to be taken as anything other than how I mean it."

Wufei took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell against the press of Duo's hand still held within his own. "I like you. I – I have _feelings_ for you. I have for some time now. Felt like that. Like. I would like to be more than just your friend."

"Wufei, no, I—"

"Don't, don't say anything. Just let me—" Wufei tucked his lower lip under his teeth and bit. Duo could see the flesh turn pink and then pale under the abuse. His hands squeezed tight against the clasp of their hands. And then, sudden, his arms were around Duo's neck. The hard edge of his glasses bumped Duo's cheek. Wufei kissed him, and it was very strange indeed.

Just as unexpected as the kiss was the rapid recoil that happened next. Duo hadn't moved the whole time. It was Wufei who burst away like a cat dropped in a bath. His back it up against the brick and he stood there, eyes two giant dark pools in his face, one hand pressed to his just-parted lips. "Oh," he whispered. "Oh, _no_."

Duo reached for words and found an exceptional lack of them. "Uh."

"Maxwell – I'm sorry. I can't. I've just realized – I'm sorry!" Wufei clenched his hand into a fist against his mouth and then spun away. The tread of his boots went tap-tap-tap against the pavement as he ran, and Duo stood there feeling flabbergasted for a long time after the sound faded.

Eventually he found the presence of mind to leave. Maybe otherwise he would have stood there all night, either waiting for Wufei to come back, or waiting for things to make sense. Not that he thought they would. Nothing about the night had made much sense to him, not from the moment he saw Wufei approach the bus stop with a whole new wardrobe makeover extravaganza. Duo didn't consider himself to be a creature of habit, but neither did he want a whole fucked up slew of changes all at once like this. He didn't want Wufei to change.

By the time he got across town on the bus, it'd grown so late that there was no way Heero hadn't beaten him home. Duo trudged toward the apartment with a growing sense of dread and lumped up fear. If it weren't for all the other terribleness that would result from it, Duo almost wished he could take back all the months in between when Wufei left the hospital and that evening. He'd been stupid about it. He'd been stupid about it ever since Zechs got drunk and threw a bunch of cruel nonsense into everyone's faces. Duo hadn't wanted to believe it was true, so he hadn't. Just that simple, but nothing got to be that simple anymore.

Duo stared at the buzzer like it might bite him. He ought to ask Heero about making a spare key. He was afraid to ask. He was afraid what would happen if Heero refused him. Duo stabbed at the intercom. A burst of static came through without actual words, and then the lock popped open. Duo went inside and suffered his way up the long elevator.

Heero greeted him at the door. Not as in he was ready for the moment Duo knocked, but as in he stepped off the elevator and found Heero standing in the hall with a face like a thundercloud. Duo slinked toward him in slumped silence. Heero snagged his arm and hauled him into the apartment. The door slammed shut with ominous force.

"Where have you been?" Heero spoke through clenched teeth.

Duo burst into tears. Big, stupid, messy, embarrassing sobs. He buried his face into his hands, mortified. He felt hands, rough with calluses but gentle all the same, fall against his neck and pull him close.

"Stop that," Heero demanded. Confusion had knocked the anger out of his voice, or at least shifted the target away from Duo. Now he just sounded angry about being confused, which was so typically and delightfully Heero that Duo began to laugh. It came out rather choked and not all that pleasant. Heero set a hand into the small of his back and rubbed tenderness into the gesture. "Stop crying."

Duo nodded. It took a moment longer before he could actually make his body obey. He shucked a gross sniffle and fell silent. He curled his hands into the soft fabric of Heero's shirt. "Sorry."

"Are you hurt?" Heero asked.

"No." He was heart-sore and bewildered, but Heero wouldn't understand that. He just wanted to know if Duo was injured. Duo lifted his face into the crook of Heero's neck. "I'm all right."

Heero stroked a hand over the base of the braid and then drew it over Duo's shoulder to rest between them. He edged Duo away enough to peer at him with startling intensity. Laser beam eyes, and Duo swallowed fear.

"I was worried," Heero said quietly. "But I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I left a note." Duo knuckled at his eyes. "I said I'd be home late."

"Where?"

"On the fridge. Next to your note about the milk."

Heero turned his head toward the kitchen but did not release Duo. "I didn't see it."

It was as close to an apology as he was going to get. Duo tried for a smile and was pleased to find that it stuck. Maybe a bit crooked, and the furrow of Heero's brow stayed the same sharp V. "I'll leave a bigger note next time."

"Next time?" Heero shook his head. "No."

"No, what?"

"You shouldn't go out alone." Heero spoke carefully, braced for a fight. "Not without me."

"What?" Duo scrubbed at his face again. "Why not?"

Heero glared. "You could get hurt."

"How on earth could I…? Okay. Did you fall asleep and have some wicked nightmare, Heero? We don't live in the Thunderdome. It's perfectly safe outside. I didn't come home sobbing because some bad guy roughed me up, or whatever else your paranoid brain conjured out of shadows. I just went out to see—" Duo's voice caught on Wufei's name and then broke over trying to say _a friend _instead_._ Liquid flooded his vision in a tidal wave of fear and sorrow. What the hell was he going to say to Wufei next time they saw each other? Fuck that, what if Wufei didn't want anything to do with him? What if there didn't get to _be_ a next time?

The waterworks sent Heero into another mess of trying to comfort him. Which, for Heero, meant snapping, "Stop that. Stop crying." Contrasting the harshness of the words themselves was the softness of his voice and the gentle way he rubbed consolation into Duo's back.

"Okay. I'm okay," said Duo. He quelled the misery with a peevish snort. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, blubbering like this."

"All right," Heero said. "Just, stop crying. I don't like it when you cry."

"Yeah, I know."

"I just want you to be safe," Heero murmured.

"Yeah, you said that. I know, Heero. But, I wasn't doing anything reckless. I left a note and everything." He sounded like a child, pathetic and whining. Duo felt like giving himself five across the eyes for being an idiot about it. He pulled away slightly, just enough to get a good look at Heero's face. "What's gotten you so worked up over my safety, huh? It's not even all that late. You couldn't have been home long."

Heero frowned. Megawatt laser beam eyes, and Duo wondered what the hell he'd missed. The intensity of his gaze cut sideways to the floor. It was a strangely reserved look for Heero. He shifted, setting a hand over Duo's elbow in a way that was both comforting and controlling. Duo was getting really fucking sick of everyone acting weird.

"Heero. Tell me. What happened?"

"Trowa called," said Heero. The words left him in a mashed-up tangle. "Quatre's missing."

"What?" Of all possible turn of events, it was the one he least expected. "Wait, what? Are you sure you don't have those names backward? What episode of the Twilight Zone is this? Didn't we already go through this disaster?"

"No. He called tonight."

By the time Heero was done explaining, Duo felt like crying again. He immediately called over to Catherine's apartment, but the phone rang several times before going to the machine. They must have already left again. According to Heero, Trowa and his sister had only come back to swap their moving van for her car. They were going to look for Quatre, or fight some sisterly doppelgangers for him; Duo wasn't exactly clear despite making Heero run through the entire conversation, verbatim, twice. Bless Heero's steeltrap mind.

Duo sat on couch with a mug of hot chocolate clutched in his hands. It tasted sickeningly sweet, because Heero had made it especially for him with extra marshmallows and two packets of mix. It was an eerily familiar attempt at comfort. He didn't want to think about that, which was made slightly easier by the fact that Quatre going missing was completely a horse of a different color compared to Trowa don't-ask-me-about-my-scars Barton skipping parole.

Duo kicked at the carpet. "How am I supposed to fix all this?"

"I don't know," said Heero.

Duo drained the hot chocolate. "Yeah. I know you don't. Thanks anyway."

"There's not anything you can do tonight."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." Duo let Heero take the empty mug into the kitchen and then, when he returned, take him into the bedroom.

Much later, when he lay curled around a sleeping Heero in the narrow bed, Duo brushed at the coarse, unruly fall of his bangs and wondered. He settled into Heero's shoulder and draped a hand over the furnace warmth of his chest. If there was one constant in his crazy life, it was the beat of Heero's heart against his hand.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm not about to give up on this story, so thank you for not giving up on me.

copyright 2013 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. BL-related goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
check the tumblr tag #fly on broken wings or #violetnyte


	109. Sunder

LSC / 3-18-13  
(Fly on Broken Wings - Chapter One Hundred Nine: Sunder)  
rated: R - language, content, violence  
shounen-ai/yaoi

CHAPTER 109

**Sunder**

* * *

He'd done everything exactly like they'd planned, so why hadn't it _worked_? Boots smacked against the pavement with rapid-fire rhythm. If he didn't stop and get his bearings soon, he was going to get so turned around he'd end up lost. Wufei stumbled to a halt against the side of a crosswalk sign and clutched his fingers into the metal hard enough to snap pain along the joints. He'd done _everything_ according to plan.

_Smile_, Marcy said. _Boys like it when you smile at them_.

He'd even worn the stupid clothes she'd picked out for him. They'd gone to the mall together that afternoon, as soon as Noin dropped off his new glasses. He didn't tell the social worker that he'd found his old frames; that was part of the plan as well. The dyed hair, the glasses, the new clothes - he'd even let Marcy paint his face. It was all supposed to work.

_Be nice to him and pay for everything. That's what makes it a date._

Well, he'd done that. And the difficult words that he'd practiced, over and over again, whispering them to Marcy as they sat across from each other on his bunk. He practiced until he knew the words by heart.

_Just tell him how you feel. _

It had seemed simple. Scary and nerve-wracking, and Wufei shook the entire time, but he'd done it. He told Maxwell how he felt. So why hadn't it worked?

Because the moment his lips touched Maxwell's, memory struck him like a flashbulb. Bright enough that it hurt somewhere behind his ribs, and Wufei felt in that moment an entirely different set of lips on his. He remembered a tangle of knees and elbows and low, rumbling voice that was all edges like broken glass. A voice that begged to be hated if not loved, and Wufei felt blinded by the incandescent oblivion.

None of the buildings around him looked familiar. He'd run off without a clear sense of direction. Hopefully that didn't mean that he'd condemned Maxwell to be lost as well, but Wufei assuaged his guilt by assuming Maxwell could take care of himself. Wufei certainly wasn't going to double-back to the arcade and check on him. He couldn't face Maxwell again after that kiss. He'd put everything into it, risked everything, and it hadn't worked. The irony surpassed his tolerance. It was cruel.

Wufei stared up at the street sign directly above his head. Using the block numbers, he judged just enough direction to find a bus stop. He checked his watch and the posted schedule. Marcy promised to cover for him if he came home after curfew, but if the bus would take forever. He might run out of time. What, exactly, he thought to accomplish by hailing a taxi and giving a half-forgotten, half-memorized address, well. Wufei pressed the pads of his fingers to his lips. Beneath his shirt collar, old bruises flared and faded with memory. Marcy would be furious when he told her.

When the cab rolled up to the white Victorian house, Wufei felt his nerve leave him. All the words he'd practiced wouldn't suit. They were meant for the wrong person. He wasn't sure what he wanted or what he was doing. He paid the driver anyway and stood on the sidewalk while the taxi rolled to the end of the street. It turned and vanished behind the overgrown yards and ramshackle homes.

It was still early. It wasn't too late. He could find another cab or just walk to the bus. He didn't have to stick around and indulge in bad ideas and foolishness. It was exceptionally foolish for him to stand there staring at the house as the minutes ticked by with painful inevitability.

Wufei turned to leave. He shouldn't have come in the first place, not when he had nothing to say. There was nothing to be said.

_I'm done with you. You're too complicated._

A voice carried through the night. A girl's, soaring a light pitch through the darkness as she laughed. Tangling around the soprano came a rumbling, a boy's short, flat replies. Wufei jerked his head up from a glum study of the sidewalk cracks. Too late he thought about bolting. Then again, there wasn't anywhere he could go.

She was wrapped over his arm. A plain-faced girl with a small nose and full brunette bob, she only came to his shoulder. The hair gave her a few more inches. Her face tipped at him as she laughed again. Heat bloomed and then burst across Wufei's face as he couldn't help but stare.

Peacecraft wore pressed khakis and a cream-colored sweater over the peeping collar of a sky-blue shirt. The long fall of his hair shown almost like moonlight under the streetlights. It was a look better suited to how he'd been before, at the hospital. Wufei suddenly felt conscious in his new clothes. They'd switched styles without meaning to. He was being stupid, thinking like that.

They noticed him at about the same time, but their reactions differed wildly. The girl's eyes glossed right over him, and Peacecraft's nearly did as well. They traced over him and then flicked back. And stuck. Even at the distance, Wufei could see the rounded whites surrounding the ice blue of them. Wufei squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. He wouldn't be intimidated. He'd come out here whatever reason, driven by that brilliant flash of half-remembered haze.

"Night, Luna." Peacecraft shook his arm free of the girl. His eyes jumped away from Wufei with flinching abruptness. "I'll see you later."

"Huh?" The girl stared up at him like stargazing. "I thought you were going to walk me home."

"Close enough. Your house is just over there." Peacecraft shrugged. "Your aunt won't want to see me anyway."

"Oh, Milliard. Don't say that. Aunt Rosa won't care."

"I said goodnight, Luna." Harshness cut the words short. It was clearly a dismissal.

Disappointment crushed the girl's bright look. "All right, fine." She tipped up, as if to kiss his cheek, and Wufei turned away so fast he nearly fell. He started walking, head down, cheeks burning, heart racing.

From behind him he heard Peacecraft's voice with all its rough edges. The voice persisted, even when Wufei lapped the house where they should have parted, but the edges melted into rounded, pleading softness.

_Please hate me._

"Treize! Treize, stop it, stop running – Treize!" Peacecraft caught him with words and hands.

Wufei turned to face him at the same time Peacecraft spun him around, so the result was a lot of stumbling and hasty balance. He threw the taller boy's grip from him. "_I'm not Treize!_"

Peacecraft actually took a half step back from him. Something guarded and wary flew into his face and battered around all the surprise. "Wufei?" His eyes raked the length of him, taking in the new clothes. It was much the same as Maxwell's reaction, but whereas surprising Maxwell made him feel confident and smug, a wildness took hold him at the same careful scrutiny from Peacecraft. It felt like fear, all hard-racing heartbeats and sudden sweat across the palm of his hands.

"What are you doing here?" Peacecraft looked aside. His hands were jammed into his pant's front pockets. His whole stance was tension. It glowed over the slacked artifice of his stance.

Wufei stared up at him. Images burst through his mind. A long bus ride, hands in his hair, a dark canopy of trees, and the whisper of his breath into pale, gossamer silk. Movie posters, a confusion of haze, twigs and leaves stuck in golden tresses and the feel of crushed lips without knowing why, faster and faster the disjointed sensations came at him. Hands against him, a sense of trepidation, excitement, and then sorrow – Wufei knew the words that needed to be said, but they were an impossibility stacked against the full weight of his hesitancy.

He was thinking of too many things all at once. They overwhelmed him. Wufei clenched his hands into fists. He felt the bite where his nails pressed into his palms. It was a sensation that followed him down into darkness.

* * *

Zechs recognized the sudden blank depth of the boy's dark eyes, but what he didn't expect was the sudden collapse. Sure a couple of times he thought Wufei might go down with the switch, but actually seeing it happen took him by surprise. Zechs reached and barely caught the boy's arms as he fluttered into a boneless swoon. They sagged to the sidewalk together. He'd managed to break the fall, if not catch him entirely.

Of all the stupid, fucked up things to happen in his life over the past whatever length of time, having Wufei show up out of the blue had to count among the top of them. With the worst possible timing, too, since stupid Luna Armonia kept hanging all over him. That was his mom's fault, but he wasn't going to fight with her over it. It hadn't seemed worth it, but kneeling there on the sidewalk with Wufei –

No, not Wufei. Not anymore. The boy stirred, fluttering awake, and tipped a groggy sort of smile up at Zechs's concern. Personality flooded the boy's face. His features rearranged themselves in a familiar way, but the dark of his eyes went wide with an ill-suited shock. "Milli?"

"Treize." Dread filled his veins with ice.

"Milli!" The boy pulled himself together just long enough to throw his arms around Zechs's neck. Warm breath puffed against his skin with terrorizing fragility. "Oh, Milli – I've been so worried for you."

"For me?"

Treize nodded and clung tighter. "Are you all right?" He pulled away again, this time putting enough space between them to caress a hand through the long fall of Zechs's hair.

"Me?" Zechs shifted to his knees and then slowly stood.

Treize gazed up at him. His hand still hovered in the air for a moment before falling to his lap. He made no move to rise. Looking down at him, Zechs felt fire along the half-healed welts across his shoulders. Inexplicable fury coursed through him and obliterated the cold rush of his blood with molten heat. It was supposed to be _over_. It wasn't fair of Treize to be here, and damn Wufei for showing up and then leaving.

"You were crying, the last time I saw you," said Treize. He traced his fingers through the red and black of his hair. The way the glossy strands parted, Zechs realized the red wasn't just clipped in but colored with dye.

"What?" It sounded strangled, like some dead thing on the side of the road. "What are you talking about?"

"The other night." Treize gathered his feet. On impulse and instinct, Zechs gave him a hand up. It earned him a flashing smile, and he snapped his hand away like a slap. The dark brushstroke of Treize's brow twitched at him with concern.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Treize."

"Ah, Milli. Don't be so cruel." He pulled the collar of his red jacket closed at the neck. "I've come all this way to see you, haven't I?"

"Dammit, Treize. _You_ didn't come here at all, it was—" Somehow he caught himself before the name could slip through. Zechs stuffed a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Of course I did. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

It was a particular kind of torture to hear those words with all the wrong inflections. Zechs cast a long look up and down the dark street. "You shouldn't be here. Come on. I'll walk you to the bus stop."

"Oh, it isn't so late as that."

"Yeah. Maybe. But, all the same. Look, Treize." Zechs shrugged helplessly. "You can't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Zechs turned his head away. He wouldn't be able to say it and still look at him. Not sober, anyway. Cruelty mocked him out of the blackout shadow of his memories. _Why couldn't you just have hated me?_

He wanted to be over. It wasn't fair. It hurt too much, and it wasn't fair, and Zechs cursed himself as multiple kinds of foolish for having chased down Wufei in the first place. He should have left it well enough alone. It was complicated, too complicated, for all the terrible things that happened in his chest at the sight of the boy standing in the dark lightning. His eyes sloped with black outline, like some Pharaoh on the Nile, and the new clothes clung and flowed over with bewitching exoticism. He was positively wicked, sin embodied.

"Treize." Zechs kicked at the cracked pavement. "A lot's happened. It's different now, okay? I can't – not anymore. You're not going to see me anymore, okay? You need to go home."

"Nonsense." Treize slipped forward and up against him with sinewy insistence.

Zechs shoved him back, perhaps harder than he meant to, or maybe nowhere near hard enough. "I mean it, Treize! You can't be here."

Dark eyes moved over his face, searching for something. Maybe he looked for kindness, and Zechs hardened his expression against the plaintive attention. Treize spoke in a quiet, subdued manner that poorly fit his usual confidence. "I've come all this way to see you, Milli. Why don't you invite me in first? If we're going to cross words, I don't want to do it here."

Zechs hesitated. There were a lot of reasons to refuse, starting somewhere around feel of a willing mouth against his, and a lot to accept, which all clustered around that same mouth twisting from him with panicked rejection. Zechs turned away with a curt gesture. "Fine. Come on."

Once upstairs, Zechs found the apartment locked. He fished the spare out from under the mat. The neighbor's cat mewed at them with rebuke before taking off down the stairs in a streak. His mom must have let the thing in again and forgotten about him. Zechs felt a sudden kinship with the stray, especially once he got inside and found the apartment empty.

Zechs slapped a hand over the light switch. Stale smoke and his mom's floral perfume wafted over him with dull pleasantry. He didn't expect her to be home this early on a Saturday night, but Zechs waved Treize toward the sofa while he checked the back bedroom just in case.

Rather than sit, Treize prowled through the apartment with infuriating curiosity. He stopped in front of the refrigerator to survey the random junk Charlotte kept there, including a sloppy drawing in childish crayon. Treize turned with a smile and a question in place, but Zechs loomed up beside him with cold, dark silence.

Distress wavered over the set of Treize's expression. A brightness struck into his eyes and stayed there as he gazed up at Zechs. The air between them changed, irrevocably warmed, like the sun parting out of the clouds. "Milli—"

The shrill ring of the telephone cut through whatever awful thing Treize wanted to say with such sweet softness. Zechs turned away to answer it with some smallness of relief. He'd said goodbye to Wufei with cruelty and received grateful finality from Meiran, but Treize? It was like being six and watching Old Yeller get blasted in the face with a shotgun, only Zechs had to be the one pulling the trigger. _Jesus, Milli, get a hold of yourself._

Zechs snatched up the receiver and jabbed angrily at the call button. "Hello?"

"Oh, um. Hello, hi. M-may I speak to, um." The wavering voice on the other end breathed out a shaky laugh. "I-I'm sorry, y-your son? May I speak to, um?"

"Jesus. _Quatre_? Is that you?"

"Oh! Zechs! I'm so sorry. I couldn't remember your first name. I mean, your real one. Oh, God, I'm so glad you answered. I'm so—" And the kid sounded he was sobbing, but all the while making that same breathless wheeze that wasn't quite a laugh and didn't sound okay.

"How the hell did you get this number?"

"Something Duo mentioned, when he thought I couldn't hear, about where you'd gone, and, I – I've put so many quarters into this thing, I kept asking the operator for all the Peacecrafts. I think I got Relena's family on accident, even, or, I don't know. I just. I didn't know who else to call."

"Uh. Okay," said Zechs. None of it really made much sense, but he could hear the strained desperation in Quatre's butterfly wing voice. All dry and fragile, like if you touched too hard it'd crumble."Well, that's okay. You can call me, I guess."

Through the phone came a shucked difficulty that confirmed that Quatre had been crying. "I'm so glad you answered," he said. "I've called and called and no one's answered."

"Sure. I mean, I guess? Did you need something?"

"Oh, please. Zechs, you – you have to help me, please. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid if I try to buy a bus ticket I'll just get caught again. And, it's too far for a taxi. I thought about walking, but it'd take me forever to get that far, and if I hitched a ride I don't know what might happen, I'm so scared – And I can't, looking like this, everyone stares at me. _Please_, Zechs."

"Hey. It's okay." Treize hovered obnoxiously at his side, and Zechs waved at him with impatience. "Sure, I'll help. I mean, if I can. What's going on?"

A story tumbled out of Quatre in a hollow rush. It was disjointed, and Zechs really couldn't follow the details, but he got the gist well enough. "Okay, okay," he tried to halt the flood of half-broken words. "Hey, be quiet. Let me talk."

"Okay," sniffed Quatre. "Sorry."

"Well, no. Don't apologize. It's just, you're – Forget it. Look, Quatre, I don't have a car. Where's Trowa? He's—"

"I don't know! I've called and called, but they're not home. I – I'm sorry, if, you can't. That's." Steel filtered into the shattered quality of his voice. "I – I can figure out something. I'll figure out something."

"Hey. I didn't mean it like that. Look, you got somewhere safe to be? I'll come get you, promise. I'll steal a goddamn car if I have to."

The laugh was real this time, thick and choking. "Okay."

"Seriously. I've done it once before. It's not as hard as you'd think. Where can I find you?"

"Um, I don't know… I found this house… Rockhaven Estates, but I don't know… Here, I'll look it up in the phone—" The beep of the payphone demanding more money intersected the words. "Um, shoot, the quarters. Hold on, okay?"

"Sure." Shuffling and static came over the line. After a moment he gave Zechs better directions. It still sounded like a wild goose chase. He didn't say this to Quatre, however. "Okay, got it. And you can find your way back there?"

"Yeah. I think so. I got turned around, earlier, but there's the burger place. I think, at least. If not, um, I don't know. I – I'll figure something out, so, maybe a taxi just that far, or. Um. T-thanks, Zechs. Thank you."

"Sure. You bet. I mean, why not? See you." They hung up, and Zechs cursed himself for being a soft-hearted fool. Baa, went the sheep, and the stupid shepherd that he was ran to save them.

"Well?" demanded Treize.

"Nothing. At least, nothing you need to worry about. Let's go, Treize. If I'm getting wheels, I might as well drive you home."

"What a gentleman." A sly smile spread across the boy's face. "Although if this just an elaborate ruse to avoid my company, I'll be sincerely annoyed."

"Treize, just—" Zechs sighed. "Fine. I don't have time for this. Quatre's in a lot of trouble, you know?"

"No, not really. Your end of the conversation wasn't very elaborative, except that you intend to steal a car again. I hope you won't wreck it this time."

"Very funny." Zechs started for his room. Treize drifted right along like an unwanted shadow, but it wasn't worth the breath or the fight to tell him to go away. Zechs dug through his closet until he found a sweater that'd shrunk in the wash. He grabbed his leather jacket as well. His mom hated him wearing it, so he kept it over his arm rather than shrug into the heavy, worn garment.

The last thing he did was scribble a quick note for his mom. He left it on the kitchen counter next to the phone. He expected something of a fight corralling Treize out of the apartment, but the boy went along with a half-amused smile. Zechs didn't get the joke, and he didn't want to ask for the punch line. They walked several blocks before Treize dared to ask, "So, how's stealing a car going to work?"

"It's not. That's not what I'm doing." Zechs checked his bearings against a street sign and then punched the crosswalk button with petty vengeance.

"Oh. Well, that's a bit disappointing. I was looking for a thrill."

"Whatever," Zechs muttered. Maybe he'd get lucky and catch Meiran on the tail end of a switch. If he could keep from her screaming bloody murder at the sight of him, it'd make things a lot easier than trying and failing to ignore the quiet reproach Treize's dark eyes.

When they reached the bar, Zechs went immediately to the gravel lot out back to search for the red coupe. Finding it wedged between two huge pick-up trucks, he shoved the bundle containing his leather jacket and the sweater at Treize. "Make yourself useful. Hold these, okay? Wait here by the car."

Treize lifted a brow at him. "The car?"

"Yeah. Just, wait here, okay?" And if Zechs came back out and found the boy missing, well, he might be fond of the jacket, but it'd be a small price to pay to be rid of that particular burden.

At the door, Zechs flashed his fake driver's license to the bouncer. For a moment he feared it wouldn't work, like maybe the guy recognized him, but after a painstaking delay Zechs got waved through. He pocketed his wallet and scanned the smoky interior for Charlotte's platinum hair. He found her easily enough. She sat at the bar in a short black dress with some plaid-wearing lug in cowboy boots buying her drinks. Guy might have even been the owner of one of the trucks parked out back. Zechs didn't know, didn't want to know, and didn't care.

Charlotte smiled at her admirer and downed a bolt of neat whisky with panache. When the guy turned to gesture at the bartender for another round, Zechs wedged himself in at his mom's other side. "Hey," he said.

She flicked toward him with idle disinterest.

"Mom."

Slowly her head turned. The ice of her eyes found him and, inexplicably, warmed. It would make things easier if she were already drunk, but Zechs still felt the old familiar roil of embarrassment and anger. "Milli," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Cowboy Boots turned back with two more drinks and a ready glare to foist on Zechs.

"Let me have your keys," said Zechs.

"No," said Charlotte. " You can't drive."

"Yeah. Give me the keys. You can't drive either." Zechs paused and then added, "I promise I'll bring the car back. I just need to borrow it."

"Hey," said Cowboy Boots. "Do you know this guy?"

Charlotte turned to her temporary date and claimed one of the drinks. Her eyes shot to Zechs with clear warning, as if he'd be stupid enough to call her _mom _again in front of some guy. "Just a – a friend's little brother," she soothed. She drew her tiny clutch purse up from her lap and snapped it open. After a moment's searching she pulled free her keys and separated the car fob from the rest.

"Thanks," said Zechs.

"Yes, fine," said Charlotte. She pressed the keys at him. "Don't be out late."

Zechs barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. "Thanks," he said again. His fingers closed over the keys and brushed hers. They were cold from holding drinks all night.

She resisted for a moment. "Don't be out late," his mom said. "I mean it, Milli. You've church in the morning."

He could have said the exact same thing to her. Zechs bit the words into his tiger's smile and left the bar before he could punch Cowboy Boots in the face. His mom could at least show better taste. Boots couldn't have been all that much older than him. Old enough to get into a bar with a real ID, but still young enough to make Charlotte feel flattered by the attention. Blood pounded in Zechs's ears by the time he rejoined Treize in the parking lot.

"How on earth did you—?"

"Get in the fucking car," snapped Zechs. He popped the locks using the fob and jerked open the driver's side door. The edge bounced against the side of the truck and left a red streak in the dark green. With every fiber of his being, Zechs wished the truck belonged to Boots. He set his foot against the clutch and tightened his hands over the steering wheel until the knuckles cracked. He needed to calm down before revering the car straight into the back of the bar. The idea shook him with wicked impulse.

"Milli—"

"Shut up," Zechs growled. He churned the key into the engine until it revved to life beneath him. "Just, don't say anything." He added, as an afterthought and through grit teeth, "Please."

"Well," huffed Treize. Mercifully that was all he said.

Zechs eased the car off the gravel and into the dark street. He kept a close eye on the speedometer, as it'd be a stupid thing to get pulled over just for the sake of a few extra minutes. Even if he drove double the speed limit and burned every light, they were going to miss curfew. Not that he ought to care about it. It wasn't his fault for a change.

Only when they reached his neighborhood did Treize speak. "There's no reason I can't go with you. Twenty minutes past curfew is just the same as a few hours."

"It's going to be longer than that," said Zechs. He'd been careful not to lie to his mother, at least. He only promised to bring the car back. He never said when.

"Still," said Treize. "I'd like to stay with you."

He sounded almost timid about it. Zechs refused to look across the interior of the car at him. He swung the car around the loop of the cul-de-sac and in front of the halfway house. The doors unlocked with a smooth, reverberating shift. After a moment, Zechs rolled the engine off and slipped the keys into his hand. "You'll need my help getting inside." He announced this more to himself than Treize. Unbidden came the thought of Wufei's slight weight against his back, that night after they'd gone to the bar.

Treize refused to get out of the car. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to, not with the stubborn set of his jaw. Zechs pulled open the passenger door and leaned over him to unsnap the seatbelt. "I'll carry you kicking and screaming if I have to, Treize. Right up to the front door, and I'll pound and holler until the staff on duty comes to see what the fuss is."

"You wouldn't."

"You want to call my bluff? Just fucking try me." Maybe he ought to write Boots a thank you note for pissing him off like this. It made it easier to harden his heart against the upturned curve of Treize's face.

"Why are you being like this?"

"Because it's _over_, Treize. Everyone knows it but you. And, yeah, I'm fucking sorry it's gotta be like this, but, it just does, okay? You've never going to be able to understand if I explain it either, so save me the trouble of trying. Just get out of the car, go inside, and forget about me. Don't come around my house again, don't call me, don't even _think_ about me."

Treize stared up at him with inscrutable dark eyes. Artificial poise did a poor job of hiding the hurt that lashed across his face at the harsh words. Zechs hated everything about the situation. Self-loathing gave him the strength to reach down and haul Treize out of the car.

It prompted words from him at least, even if it was only a soft-spoken, "Milli, that hurts."

"Then fucking walk," snarled Zechs. It was the same goddamn lesson he'd learned with Wufei all over again, and he needed it over fast before he became something broken.

Treize made no effort to free his arm. He let Zechs march him around to the backyard. They weren't being very stealthy about it, especially considering how many lights were still on inside. Zechs eyed the covered porch that butted up against the sliding glass doors and then carefully counted the windows. As before, one of them had been carefully propped open.

"Hey," hissed a voice from the shadows. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Treize jerked his head to the side. "Marcy?" he whispered back.

She stepped closer but remained shadowed in impenetrable darkness thanks to the baggy black clothes from head to toe. Zechs released Treize's arm like the boy had caught fire. His shins were still bruised from his last encounter with her. Marcy stared at Zechs like he was a dead mouse dragged home by a cat.

Which made Treize the cat, and he certainly wore a canary-chomped smile. "Have you dyed your hair again? Is it pink? Oh, darling, the blue was so much more suiting."

"Treize?" Marcy's eyes widened. She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt down to expose the lurid Technicolor and unmistakable pink of her hair. "It is you! Goddamn. Oh, god_dammit_." She glared at Zechs as if he were to blame. Which seemed entirely likely, even if he didn't know the crime. He certainly felt guilty enough.

Faced against her scowl, Zechs could remember all the vindictive blame she'd thrown at him out of Wufei's file. It was just all the more reason for him to leave. "Can you get him inside?"

"What?" Marcy blinked at him. "Oh, yeah. I mean, I figured Wufei would—" Her eyes cut sideways to Treize. "Goddammit. Has he been with you the whole evening?"

"No. And if you don't need me, fine." Zechs turned to go.

Treize caught his hand. "Milli, wait—"

Zechs shoved him back, hard enough that he fell to the grass. "Don't!"

"Hey, asshole. Listen—" Marcy started to say. She was all fury and noble defense as she knelt at Treize's side to help him up.

Zechs ran right over her protest with a sharp hiss. "No! You listen! Jesus Christ, leave me alone. I didn't go looking for this shit. _He_ found _me_. Not _him_, the other, you know damned well who I mean. Showed up out of fucking nowhere and then switched out on me without one goddamn word, leaving me stuck with this one, and fuck you for making this harder than it has to be. I didn't want this – I _don't_ want this. You want me to say I'm sorry? Yeah? Because I am. I'm so fucking sorry you have no idea. Sorry isn't going to fix it, because some shit's so broken it's just gotta stay that way. That's what this is, it's broken. It's _over_."

Marcy just stared at him. She wore the same piteous look one would give a half-lame stray limping along the side of a busy highway. It was recognition she was looking at something desolate, but she wasn't about to pull her car over and get bit for the trouble. She had other shit to worry about, which was fine. Zechs tried to tell himself it was fine. He deserved it, after all, for the way the claw marks across his back flared a bitter reminder.

Neither of them had anything to say. Which was fine, Zechs didn't want them to say anything. That was the whole fucking point., and damn his heart for breaking right down the middle like a poorly cracked egg. He gnashed his teeth against saying anything further. He'd said enough and too much already. He turned to leave.

"You stupid motherfucker—"

"Let him go, Marcy. Just – it's okay."

And Zechs looked back, because he wasn't fucking deaf just stupid, and he could hear the whisper-soft voice all the same. The two of them crouched on the grass in the shadows, and even though the boy looked all the same and all the different with red like dried blood in all that inky black loose around the pale curve of his face – even though he looked completely the same, he wasn't.

Zechs turned away again. Stuck his head down and kept walking. It wasn't his problem anymore. Wasn't ever his problem in the first place, until he had to go and be fucking stupid about it. Walking away was the least he could do, it was what he should have done in the first place. Zechs made it to the car and then drove all the way to the end of the street before breaking down. He couldn't see well enough to drive, not with the drenched wavering misery, but he kept going anyway. It was a long way out to rescue the silly lost lamb, and damned if he still wasn't playing the shepherd.

* * *

(Author's Notes)

I was a bit busy over the weekend but still able to turn out this chapter plus a good chunk of the next, which is a good thing since my work week is filling up with meetings. I'll have the next update out as soon as I can! Thank you so much for reading.

copyright 2013 - Gundam Wing & Co. (c) Sotsu/Sunrise  
LSC - Violet Nyte  
Visit my blog for writing updates and misc. BL-related goodies: violetnyte -dot- tumblr  
check the tumblr tag #fly on broken wings or #violetnyte


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